


From the North Wind, Her Fire Follows

by littoralbones



Series: From The North Wind, Her Fire Follows [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe- Rhaenys Lives, basically a take on what if rhaenys was in canon events of got/asoiaf - Freeform, don't like don't read is still very much alive during these trying times - Freeform, if you're a fan of rhaegar then you probably should NOT read this, more characters and pairings will be added as the story continues, which I KNOW wouldnt be accurate in the grand scheme of things but pls bare with me - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 85
Words: 250,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littoralbones/pseuds/littoralbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhaenys Targaryen survives her family's slaughter but at a cost. King Robert fears for a day when the last of the Targaryens return with vengeance to restore themselves on the Iron Throne; he fears Rhaenys the most. Hoping to spare another child from death, the Hand of the King plans, the Prince of Dorne approves, and the Lord of Winterfell agrees. At ten years old, Rhaenys is sent away from her home in Sunspear to the unforgiving lands of the North, all in the hope that the legendary fire of her bloodline could be smothered before it even sparks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a bloodied sword and a cloak of grey

{283 AC}

When Rhaenys Targaryen was three years old, the Seven Kingdoms bled out. Her family bled as well. Aegon died as soon as his skull was dashed upon a stone wall, but he was lucky; he didn’t have to wait for death. Elia was raped bloody before her own head was crushed. Rhaeger lay dying in the Trident, the water running red as the rubies that encrusted his armor. Aerys’ throat was slit, right after a sword was driven through his back. Murdered by his own Kingsguard, a man swore to protect the Targaryens.

Yet, the king slayer Jaime Lannister kept his oath that night. 

Amory Lorch was more pig than man. Rhaenys could recall the mirth in his pasty flat face as he pulled her out from under her father’s bed. She could also remember the look in his tiny rat eyes as Jaime drove his sword through him.

Jaime took her into his arms and went to the throne room. The room was cold and reeked of blood and death. The stone walls muffled the sacking of King’s Landing. The skulls of the dragons of old watched over them as they waited. 

On the Iron Throne, Jaime sat; Rhaenys on one knee and bloodied longsword in his other hand. The child asked many questions; where were Mama and Aegon? Why was Grandfather dead? Could she go to Dragonstone with Grandmother and Viserys?

The only answer she ever got was the sound of Ned Stark bursting into the throne room with dozens of his bannermen. 

Jaime gave up the throne (happily even, saying he was keeping it warm for Robert) but not Rhaenys. He insisted that Robert would not be satisfied with the death of Rhaegar and that he would call for Rhaenys’ head as well as those of the remaining Targaryens. Ned Stark was outraged and claimed Robert would never condone the murder of a child.

But Ned Stark was wrong.

\---

Jaime became Stark’s prisoner only if Rhaenys was out of sight before Robert arrived to the Red Keep. The northerner complied, eager to see the oathbreaker pay for his crime. 

While Rhaenys was safe in the White Sword Tower, Robert Baratheon demanded her blood. He was supported by Tywin Lannister, the reason for the sacking and the murder of Rhaeger’s family. He had presented Robert with a “gift”; Elia and Aegon (or rather, what was left of them) wrapped in crimson banners. When Tywin mentioned that the princess was nowhere to be found. Ned foolishly told Stag and Lion the truth; Rhaenys was alive; but he had enough sense to keep her whereabouts secret from the Lannister. When Robert drew his sword out screaming his intentions, Ned felt a chill colder than any northern wind.

“She is a child Robert!” Ned said.

“She is dragonspawn Ned, born from the seed of monsters!” Robert screeched. “Her, and Aerys’ bitch and brat on Dragonstone. I want them dead!”

Ned said his peace. Not even Jon Arryn could heal this wound. Robert had his throne; all Ned wanted was to find Lyanna. If Robert wanted to slaughter children, then Ned wanted no further involvement.

But first, he went up to the White Sword Tower. As he promised Jaime, Rhaenys was guarded by two northernmen, one of them being Howland Reed. 

“I could have heard him even from here…” Howland said softly. “No doubt the girl did as well...”

“Howland, I need you to ride to Storm’s End this evening. With Robert victorious, Lord Tyrell will be quick to lower his banners. ” Ned said. “I have to take Rhaenys to Sunspear.”

Before Howland could argue, Ned swung the door open. Rhaenys had crawled under the white weirwood table, curled up and hugging her knees.

“Robert would have your head for treason.” Howland muttered.

“Robert be damned.” Ned sighed, as he knelt down to peer under the table. She wasn’t asleep, only staring at nothing with a glassy look in her bloodshot eyes. Ned suspected she didn’t have a tear left in her to shed.

“Hello Princess.” Ned said tenderly.

“Are you going to kill me?” Rhaenys asked, her voice tiny and hoarse. There was no fear in her tone; only weariness. No child should ever ask such a question.

“No Rhaenys.” Ned said. “I’m Ned Stark. I’m here to take you home to Dorne.”

\---

The Red Keep was huge and had no lack of egress. As Howland searched for Ned’s destrier, Ned took off his own cloak, grey and frayed, and wrapped it around the child.

“Where’s Ser Jaime?” Rhaenys asked. Jaime was an oathbreaker, yet he was still the little girl’s savior; Ned recognized that. But he had insisted that Jaime be striped of his white cloak and forced into the Night’s Watch. It was yet another thing that Robert disagreed upon. Ned would not be surprised if Jaime remained in the Kingsguard.

“He’s safe Princess.” Ned said, masking ill will. “But he has to stay here in King’s Landing.”

He carried her outside, into the safety of his bannnermen. They had their questions, but Ned answered to none. Howland had found the horse and was waiting.

“The Dornishmen will want vengeance for Elia and her son.” Howland said as he took Rhaenys from Ned. “Be wary of Doran and Oberyn. The return their niece should spare you of some of their rage.”

"Their deaths were Tywin Lannister’s doing.” Ned said bitterly as he mounted his destrier. “Fealty for the new king and I fear Robert will protect him.” 

Howland sighed. “War has poisoned Robert’s heart. I pray his Lady Lyanna will restore him.” He lifted Rhaenys into Ned’s outstretched arms. Riding double with a small child was dangerous, but Ned made sure she was carefully sat upon the saddle. 

“We shall meet again in the Red Mountains.” Ned said, bidding his farewell to Howland. He wish to share Howland’s prayers but Lyanna was stolen and hidden away for moons; would Robert be able to mead her heart as well? Would he still even want her after being disgraced by Rhaegar? 

Ned spurred his horse, leaving the Red Keep and Robert in the distance. By the time Robert realized what Ned had done, Rhaenys would be nearing the protection of her uncles, their bannermen, and their sand steeds, and double-curved bows. Robert would be an utterly mad fool if he wished to wage a war for a child’s head.


	2. a pact set by raven wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys Targaryen is safe and happy in Sunspear, but Doran Martell worries about King Robert's looming shadow.

Rhaenys was given a true childhood in Dorne. Doran and Oberyn Martell were thankful that Elia was survived by her daughter. They were begrudgingly thankful to Jaime Lannister for their niece’s life and to Ned Stark for bringing her to Sunspear. They also found sympathy for Ned after he found his own sister dead in the Red Mountains of Dorne.

Robert had sent the remains of Elia and Aegon, along with an apology for only Elia’s death; but Dorne craved vengeance for both mother and son. They accepted King Robert with rancor and called for Tywin Lannister’s head. They feared for the day Robert would call for Rhaenys’ death. Robert knew that any son Rhaenys could bear would have a claim for the Iron Throne and he dreaded the very thought. Only his Hand Jon Arryn could stave off his concerns.

But Doran and Oberyn kept their fears under care and out of Rhaenys’ thoughts. She grew out of her nightmares and thrived in Sunspear. She had no shortage of people who loved her; her uncles, her many cousins, Doran’s wife Mellario, and Oberyn’s paramour Ellaria. Life was joyful, well pronounced by (to name just a few) visits to the Water Gardens, lessons in riding ponies, and learning to play cyavasse.

It was strange to believe this was the same child who narrowly survived her family’s slaughter.

\---

{290 AC}

A fortnight after Rhaenys’ tenth name day, Doran received a raven from King’s Landing. The letter was written in the hand of Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, and spoke of King Robert.

“…

_The King lives in fear of the day Rhaenys Targaryen grows into a woman, seeking to avenge her father and steal Robert’s crown for her true-born son. I have consoled Robert, insisting that her sons will not bare the name Targaryen and thus bare no claim. He insists that blood is blood and no man’s name could shroud that of “dragonspawn”. I dread the day Robert starts a war with the Dornish, demanding your niece’s head. The Seven Kingdoms have suffered enough cruelty from the teeth of war. I can only advise the King for so long- if he calls for war then I have no choice but to obey. Rhaenys is still a child and I wish no further harm to her.”_

Doran kept the letter secret from his brother. Oberyn was impetuous and brazen; he would storm into King’s Landing alone with a spear to keep Rhaenys from harm. Jon Arryn was right; there was no need for more bloodshed.

Doran replied to the Hand that very morning. Another fortnight and many ravens later, he came to a heartbreaking decision.

\---

He told Mellario first. She came from Norvos and found Westeroi customs strange. She was furious when he sent their son Quentyn to be fostered by Lord Anders Yronwood. Doran’s plan for Rhaenys provoked her once more.

Oberyn heard them arguing and intervened. He sided with Mellario once she told him what his brother was arranging.

“Oberyn, point me another way if such a direction exists.” Doran said haggardly, trying to console his brother as Mellario stormed out. “But I would not be treading this path if I could help it.”

“Damn you Doran, you did not think for my opinion!” Oberyn hissed, the Red Viper rearing his head. “Rhaenys is my niece as well. Our sister’s child. And here you are, scheming with Robert’s puppet!”

“I thought to keep peace.” Doran said. “I have neither place nor time for your anger. Please Oberyn, listen to me.”

“You think Rhaenys would be safe in the house of our enemies?!” Oberyn snarled, sweeping the letters off the writing desks with his hand. Doran watched as parchment skidded across the floor.

“If Eddard Stark is our enemy, the gods damn the day he risked his neck to bring Rhaenys home. ”

\---

Arianne learned of her father’s plans from her mother. With a rage no different from a viper once trodden on, she stormed into her father’s solar.

“You would send Rhaenys into a wolf’s den!” She scoffed.

Despite his family turning against him, Doran wouldn’t relent. “All of Dorne knows that Rhaenys will never be rid of Robert’s wrath. As Eddard Stark’s fosterling, she’d be under his protection.”

Arianne snorted. “After what Rhaegar and Aerys did to his family, Stark would be glad to rid the world of another Targaryen!”

“As I explained to your uncle, Lord Stark risked the wrath of a new king to bring Rhaenys to Dorne. He believed Rhaenys was innocent of her family’s deeds. ” Doran said. “Many say the cold of the north left his heart barren and grey; but I have never met a more honorable man than Eddard Stark.”

“You speak of honor, yet you are willing to trade that of Rhaenys.” Arianne hissed. “She is a princess of Dorne and you want to exile her to a forsaken land of ice. What of her honor, Father?”

“Rhaenys is a princess of the House Targaryen.” Doran sighed. “She is dragon before spear. Robert Baratheon could live and die a hundred lifetimes before he pardons her dragonblood. Rhaenys may have been graced with her mother’s coloring but she is still the blood of Old Valyria. She is as much Rhaegar as she is Elia, and that could be her ruin.”

“We can protect her!” Arianne argued, her anger fading to desperation. Rhaenys was a girl of ten who belonged in Sunspear. Dragon or not, she still had the right to remain with Arianne and the rest her family-- with Elia’s family.

“Arianne, we cannot protect her forever.” Doran confessed. “Yes, all of Dorne will raise their banners and whet their spears. But Rhaenys does not have to live and grow in the shadows of our spears and shields.”

“And the Starks will preserve Rhaenys better than the Dornish?” Arianne asked incredulously.

“Such is the agreement.” Doran answered. “Jon Arryn wrote of Robert’s trust and love for Eddard. They were both Lord Arryn’s wards, brought up akin to true-born brothers. Why else did Robert not execute Stark for treason? Had any other man brought Rhaenys to us, Robert would have swung the blade himself. Arryn swore that Robert would not threaten Rhaenys as long as she remains in Winterfell, under Eddard Stark’s watch.”

Little by little, Doran's plan came to sense-- and Arianne hated that. “So Rhaenys secures Stark’s protection... what will Stark get in return?”

“He will get House Martell’s formal allegiance. Such was never forged between our Houses.” Doran paused. “… And when the time comes, Rhaenys will wed his eldest son Robb.”

Arianne laughed haughtily, veiling her surprise and distaste. Rhaenys marrying a northernboy? She had expected her father to at least keep to Dorne if he wanted to marry Rhaenys off. “Father, your jests were never all that amusing but--”

“I jest not Arianne.” Doran said sternly. “Lord Arryn promises that Robert will trust any of Eddard’s grandsons, as bore by Rhaenys, to renounce their claim for the Iron Throne. As I mentioned, Eddard Stark is an honorable man and he will take care to not betray Robert a second time, especially not at the expense of another’s life. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can probably see where this is going.
> 
> Doran, always the schemer. But i'm pretty sure this plan made more sense that the "Marrying-Arianne-To-Viserys-Who Was-Living-In-Exile-Why-The-Hell-Would-Doran-Even-Consider-That-Like-What-Was-He-Trying-To-Accomplish?" plan.
> 
> EDIT: I decided to take the easier approach and make the parts into chapters. Sorry for any confusion


	3. the terms for survival (paying for rhaegar's debt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys learns the conditions of her survival and begins the journey to Winterfell.

With the presence (and without agreement) of Oberyn, Doran quietly summoned Rhaenys to his solar one day. It was six days after he fought with his wife, brother, and daughter. Doran would have told Rhaenys about her fostering much sooner, but Arianne had taken her and Oberyn’s daughters to the Water Gardens five days prior, and remained there until Doran ordered their return.

“The days grow warm in Winterfell.” Doran explained to an irate Oberyn. “Lord Stark suggested for Rhaenys to arrive during such times, to ease her.” Still, he allowed Rhaenys to enjoy what were her last days as a child playing in the Water Gardens.

And Rhaenys ran in, followed by a septa who was chastising her for running. Septa Darsha pardoned herself and left a breathless and beaming Rhaenys in the company of her uncles. Doran felt his guilt swell as she looked down at his niece.

She was her mother’s mirror already, with black hair falling in curls, dark eyes (warm brown, lighter than her mother's had been), and dusky skin; but Elia’s frailty was absent. As Doran said to Arianne, Rhaeger was there as much as Elia; Rhaenys’ had her father’s jawline as well as his deep set eyes. Mellario thought him a madman to send Rhaenys away to Winterfell; perhaps she was right. But Doran had his duty to bide by.

With Rhaenys sat at the redwood table, Doran spoke of the time to come.

As the candles burned low, Rhaenys wept.

—

A fortnight after, Rhaenys boarded _Nymeria’s Steed_. She was accompanied by the septa Darsha and the recently knighted Ser Arron Qorgyle; he was to serve as her sworn shield.

Rhaenys had dedicated all of the prior day to farewells. From her playmates that were the bannermen’s children, to her bastard and true-born cousins, to the servants and septas, and to Elia and Aegon. To Elia’s tomb, Rhaenys’ cried, begging her mother to ask the Seven to stop Uncle Doran from sending her to Winterfell and from marrying the Stark boy.

But so she remained, aboard her uncle’s finest ship and wondering why the Seven Hells liked her so much.

—

The journey from Sunspear to White Harbor took more moons than Rhaenys could have bothered to count. She spent the most of the time restless and weepy. Alone in her cabin was perfectly acceptable to her, but Septa Darsha insisted that she continued her lessons. As they sailed up to the Narrow Sea, Ser Arron showed and marked their journey on a map of Westeros. The distance from Dorne grew and Rhaenys became more mournful. Her interest piqued one day when she noticed they were to sail past the Crownlands– and Dragonstone.

She had been born in the monstrous fortress of Dragonstone; she was even once called Princess of Dragonstone. But now the island was held hostage by King Robert’s brother Stannis. Targaryens still remained there, the last being the remains of Rhaegar, Rhaella, and Aerys. Rhaenys wondered if they were even still entombed within the castle, or if Stannis casted their ashes into the sea.

They continued north, passing the Vale of Arryn and The Fingers. The air grew colder and the skies grey. Rhaenys traded her light Myrish silk for heavy fur. Septa Darsha started to educate Rhaenys about the northern Houses and their nameless old gods of stone, earth, and tree.

The sight of White Harbor was both blessing and curse to Rhaenys. She was happy to finally be rid of the seas but that only meant she was days closer to her fate. She, her septa, and her knight bade farewell to _Nymeria’s Steed_ ; they boarded a smaller river runner and pressed north up the river called White Knife.

The north held a harsh beauty likened to flower petals coated in iron. Greenery was everywhere, not only gathered near the sides of waterways. The forests were more dense than those of Dorne. When Rhaenys’ misery loosened, she would join Ser Arron at the vessel’s deck and watch for northern creatures. She hoped to spot the fabled direwolf but the captain told her that direwolves died out south of The Wall some time ago.

—

On a foggy morning, Septa Darsha helped Rhaenys dress into the finer of the northern wear; a dress of grey velvet and a hooded and furred cloak– modest yet fitting of Rhaenys’ nobility. The Lord of Winterfell himself had joined the company to collect her; the septa would be damned before she allowed Rhaenys to meet him looking like a wind-blown desert child. Rhaenys thought being a wind-blown desert child sounded more fun.

Eddard Stark remained as Rhaenys vaguely remembered him; long-faced and grey eyes as soft as the morning fog. Rhaenys curtsied as she was taught, graceful and princess-like. Lord Stark lowered himself to Rhaenys’ height. “The North welcomes you, Princess Rhaenys” he said, his voice low but kind.

—

Winterfell was massive, a sight to behold in the dying fog. They rode through the winter town, lined with neat rows of houses and inns and curious smallfolk. Rhaenys realized she was to be their Lady of Winterfell someday; she met with her realization bitterly.

She wanted to be a Princess of Dorne, riding along the deserts on a full grown sand steed and tracing the paths that the warrior queen Nymeria trodden. But Rhaenys was not a Princess of Dorne, nor was she ever. She was one of the last Targaryens. She lived to pay for her father’s folly but not in fire and blood as her ancestors once did, but with bent knee and womb.

But perhaps she was lucky; Elia and Aegon were given no choice and paid the highest price for Rhaegar’s debt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys deserves to be happy why am i such an asshole ??  
> Its not like any of the Starks got happy endings in the long run…


	4. the ghosts that love and never leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys grows at ease in Winterfell and learns the truth about ghosts.

Rhaenys hated Winterfell as much as anyone could expect. During her first days she kept to her chambers, lamenting over the loss of her family and home. Septa Darsha fretted that this would offend the Starks, but Lady Catelyn Stark assured her that Rhaenys behaved as expected. 

"She's a child in a strange land." She said. “Time will do her kindness but only if we permit it.”

So Rhaenys cried herself asleep and woke with bloodshot eyes. She wished for nightmares as all her dreams were pleasant and of Dorne.

She grew thinner and colder but allowed hunger to claw at her belly. Lord and Lady Stark had the cook Gage tempt Rhaenys with sweet teas and applecakes, which were always left cold and untouched. 

Then one night, Rhaenys dreamed of Elia who took her into her lap and sang the Mother’s hymn. She spoke with a mother’s grace and tenderness that was shared while as lived.

_Gentle Mother, strength of women,_

_help our daughters through this fray,_

_soothe the wrath and tame the fury,_

_teach us all a kinder way_

Then Elia spoke of fire.

“Sweet girl, one day you shall grow old and grey but you will be at your own mercy. You are of the blood of kings and queens and conquerors and mothers. The winds of the north can carry your fire but that path will be at your mercy; she must be bolder than the fire she lights.”

Rhaenys woke to Darsha pulling the window’s drapes to the side, allowing sun to bathe the room. Very much awake, she politely greeted the septa and told her she was hungry.

—

In Winterfell, there were four true-born Stark children, a Greyjoy boy, and an apparently very lucky bastard.

Jon Snow was Ned Stark’s bastard, born the same year Robb was. Rhaenys soon learned that bastards of the north were little loved. In Dorne, bastards were treated like any other true-born child. Even the idea of Jon living in Winterfell with his noble-born father was far-fetched. Lady Stark hated Jon Snow; Rhaenys saw the way her blue eyes iced-over whenever she looked at him. Rhaenys thought this to be unfair. Jon was kind and always somber even as he smiled. He didn’t ask to be born a Snow.

Theon Greyjoy was Ned Stark’s ward. He was eldest of them all, eleven years, and supposedly heir to the Iron Islands. His father offered him to Lord Stark as fealty, following a failed ironborn rebellion. Theon was already as cocky as any full grown man and Rhaenys suspected it would only get worse.

Then there was Robb, seven to Rhaenys’ ten years and a head shorter than her. He was sweet and quiet and Rhaenys found it very hard to despise him. Robb usually left Rhaenys alone; he only talked to her when needed and preferred his company with Theon and Jon. This was more than she could have hoped for.

Sansa, unlike her eldest brother, trailed behind Rhaenys like a shadow. She was a doe-eyed girl of four and already more of a lady than Rhaenys was. Rhaenys did not mind Sansa’s frequent company, recalling the days when she would pad behind Arianne. Arya was only a year old but also preferred to toddle after the older girls, much to Sansa’s chagrin.

The fourth child, Brandon, was born days before Rhaenys’ arrival to Winterfell. He was a rosy-cheeked babe in arms and reminded Rhaenys of Aegon.

—

They were all outside the glass garden, enjoying the long summer. Theon, Robb, and Jon were play fighting with wooden swords while Arya, Sansa and Rhaenys sat on the grass, weaving white clovers into crowns (or in Arya’s case, ripping the clovers from the dirt and nothing else). The boys eventually abandoned their imaginary raid to discuss ghosts living in the crypt of Winterfell.

“The Kings of Winter and their direwolves– they protect the crypts and Winterfell!” Robb insisted. Jon slowly nodded in agreement. 

“Old Nan might know.” Theon yawned. “She’s old enough to be a ghost herself.”

Nan was indeed as old as she was ugly; toothless, almost bald, and nearly blind. Septa Mordane mentioned that Nan was the oldest person in Winterfell, but no one was sure about how long she lived here– even Nan wasn’t sure. But if Old Nan was sure about one thing, it was how to scare children with wild and outlandish tales.

Rhaenys and Sansa overheard them and the latter grew frightened at the very thought of a wizened king and his longsword appearing at her window during the night. 

“If ghosts did exist, they’d go after Theon for comparing them to Old Nan.” Rhaenys said, loud enough so Theon could hear her. Sansa (and even Robb and Jon) giggled as Theon turned around to scowl at her. He did not take well to being laughed at.

“Princess, you know about the lady Lyanna Stark?” He asked, knowing very well that Rhaenys was all too familiar with Lyanna Stark. 

“She too rests in the crypt, after _your_ father Rhaegar stole and murdered her; her ghost will surely beset you one night.”

Numb with ire, Rhaenys rose from the ground, the nearly finished crown slipping from her fingers. Theon Greyjoy was taller than she was but that was nothing a kick in the knee couldn’t temporally solve. Sansa pulled on Rhaenys’ hand and pleaded for them to return to the Great Keep. Arya looked up at them, still pulling the whites away from the clovers. 

“That’s enough Theon.” Robb said.

Rhaenys thought of every hateful thing to throw at the puerile squid lordling but lost her chance to say them as Mordane approached them.

—

As the sun sank low, Ned Stark summoned both Theon and Rhaenys to the covered bridge that linked the Great Hall and the armory. 

After Mordane sent them all back inside the castle, Rhaenys opted to return to her chambers. She settled in her bed, a book about Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters open in her lap. Maester Luwin had found the book in the library and kindly presented it to Rhaenys. But the words about the great Targaryens and their monstrous dragons were only blurs on the page.

Oberyn had told Rhaenys about the Tourney at Harrenhal, the day that would have eventually sent thousands to their deaths, when she was old and brave and scared enough to ask. How Rhaegar won the tourney but urged his horse pass his own lady-wife, giving the victor’s laurel of blue roses to a betrothed young girl. And what was the expense of his lust? The death of many and the end of a dynasty. And only Rhaenys remained to be reminded of it.

The covered bridge had a window large enough for one to see the entire yard. Lord Stark awaited; he seemed more weary than angry. A shamefaced Theon was already there. Rhaenys would have given anything to hear what Lord Stark had said to him. As she approached, Theon bowed his head respectively. 

“Forgive me, Princess.” Theon said, his face red. “My words were foolish. I promise to never repeat them.”

Rhaenys did not want to forgive him; she wanted to cast him into the sea and let that kraken of his House claim him. 

“I forgive you, Theon.” Rhaenys said politely, as Lord Stark looked on. He nodded in approval. “Thank you Theon. You may take your leave.”

Theon bowed his head once more and trudged back to the Great Hall. 

Lord Stark sighed. “He is arrogant for a child. For the sake of his future lordship, I hope he learns humility.” He leaned against the window and beckoned for Rhaenys to do the same. She was just tall enough to look out to the yard. The kennelmaster Farlen was leading some of the hounds back to the kennels, with the simpleton stableboy Hodor happily following them.

“Robb told me what had happened before Septa Mordane did.” Lord Stark said. “He thinks it unfair for you to be blamed for another’s evil.”

“…Robb is very kind.” Rhaenys said sincerely, vowing to think better of him from now on. 

“He spoke the truth.” Lord Stark said. “Not even Lyanna would have wanted the sins of Rhaegar to fall onto his child’s shoulders.”

Rhaenys glanced at Lord Stark. She spent many days wondering about the girl that driven her father to such madness.

“What was she like?” She asked wearily, treading a cold path that she was certain that was not her place.

But Lord Stark looked down at her, his grey eyes soft as fog. “She was beautiful… and more wolfblooded than anyone could have thought. Would have spent her days riding and hunting and appalling our lady-mother if she could’ve.” He smiled, with all the fondness of a memory. “At Harrenhal, she attacked three squires with a tourney sword for bullying Lord Howland Reed.”

Rhaenys giggled but her joy died quickly. She thought of a young girl with Stark coloring, stormy and beautiful, charging a horse into the wolfswood and only returning when the sun fell. 

Ghosts were not real; at least not the ghosts that children spoke softly about. But there were the ghost of a brother’s joy that only survived in memories. The ghost of a mother’s wishes, still begging for her child to be bold. The ghost of the wildness of a girl, still echoing through the trees. Ghosts were not real but they haunted anyway. In cruelty and kindness, they were always there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never liked Theon to be honest.


	5. from southern girl to northern lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys' journey from childhood to womanhood.

{291 AC}

A woman as old as Nan was very likely to tell the stories that everyone else forgot about or simply ignored. One evening, she told the tale of Vermax, the dragon of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. On Vermax’s back, Jacaerys flew to the north to treat with Lady Jeyne Arryn, Lord Manderly, and Lord Cregan Stark. His mission was successful, but this was not the crowning moment of Nan’s tale. 

There was a rumor, nearly close to a jest, that Vermax had laid a clutch of eggs deep within the crypts of Winterfell. However, no one of Winterfell gave the gossip a second glance; this was most likely because the rumor was started by a lackwit court jester called Mushroom. Also, Vermax was attested to be a male dragon, making any chances of even a single dragon egg highly erroneous. But the children still had their questions and wild concepts of “ _but what if?_ ”. Old Nan insisted that all dragons had died along with the magic of old and will remain as such. 

This did not stop Robb from announcing an expedition into the crypts to find the dragon eggs. By “expedition”, he meant a group of children armed with candlesticks. Jon pointed out that the excursion would only comprise of Robb and Sansa. Old Nan had nothing to say because she had fallen asleep.

“The crypts are a Stark place.” Jon said solemnly. “It wouldn’t be wise for the rest of us (he gestured at himself, Rhaenys, and Theon) to go down there.”

Robb stood taller. “You’re half-Stark.” He said to Jon. “That counts, does it not? And Rhaenys.. will…become a Stark… someday.” He turned bright red. “As for Theon, he can come with us because I said so.”

Theon guffawed. “ I’m sure your lord-father wouldn’t take well to a lordling threatening his rule.”

“Robb, a _lackwit_ spoke of a _male dragon_ laying eggs in the crypt.” Rhaenys sighed. “If you take a lackwit’s word for truth, then what would that make you?”

Robb pondered on this. “Well, a lackwit in return, I guess…”

—

After spending a year in Winterfell, Rhaenys had grown used to the fact that she would never ride a Dornish sand steed, smaller than the northern horses and able to run day and night without tiring. Still, she took well to the horses at Winterfell and grew fond of a particular mare. Pale grey and mottled with black spots, the 2 year-old filly called Stormy was accounted by Hullen as “a horse friendlier to him than any woman ever was”. The mare was indeed a sweet one. 

On Rhaenys’ eleventh nameday, Lord Stark said Stormy was hers to ride. And so she did, whenever she could, venturing out into the woods with the older children. Septa Mordane frowned upon this, claiming that Rhaenys’ time should be better for learning about womanly arts. 

On one particular day of needlework lessons, Robb somehow managed to capture a bushy-tailed squirrel and set it lose in the room. Throughly distracted, Mordane didn’t even notice Rhaenys slip out to join Robb and Jon, who were both crying from laughter. They hastened out of the castle before they were discovered. After finding Sansa and Arya with Septa Darsha, the five played monsters and maidens outside the Broken Tower until the sun went down.

Later that night, when Mordane demanded to know why Rhaenys ran off, the Princess looked up at the septa and claimed that the squirrel gave her such a fright that she absolutely had to get away from such a vile creature.

\---

{292 AC}

Rhaenys flowered after she turned twelve. She awoke one morning with blood soaked into her smallclothes and sheets. Too startled to call for Darsha, she leapt from bed and tore the bloodied sheets away from the mattress. _Why must there be so much blood?_ Rhaenys thought as she dropped the sheets onto the floor. She became conscious of the blood on the hem of her nightdress. “Seven hells”, she muttered as she lifted her dress to find her thighs streaked with blood. At that moment, Darsha entered the room and found the sight of blood stained sheets on the floor and a rather horrified Rhaenys.

—

Later that day, Lady Stark summoned Rhaenys to the chambers she shared with her husband. Lord Stark wasn’t there of course; he had taken Robb, Jon, and Theon into the woods to watch a hunt. 

She gestured for Rhaenys to sit. As she poured out what looked like herbal tea into cup, she asked “Has any woman ever told you about flowering?” 

“When my cousin Arianne flowered, she repeated to me what her mother told her; that she was a woman now.” Rhaenys said. 

Lady Stark nodded and handed the steaming cup to Rhaenys. “For the pain.” Indeed, Rhaenys felt like she was being stabbed in the belly. “And it also means you are ready to bear children.”

Rhaenys gripped the cup, letting the heat seep into her fingers. The tea was very strong but sweetened with honey and warmed her belly. “Robb’s children.” She said quietly, thinking of the nine-year old boy who was out in the woods with his father. 

“Yes, Robb’s children. But do not fret; you still have years until that day.” Lady Stark smiled. “I know Robb is still only a child.” She continued. “It must be difficult to imagine taking him for your husband and bearing his children.”

Rhaenys sipped at the tea. Yes, it was very difficult, almost absurd, to think she’d have to marry Robb someday. She was very fond of him, enjoying their days of being children. 

“I was betrothed days after my twelfth nameday.” Lady Stark said. “Ned’s older brother, Brandon. How I detested it… the thought of marrying a complete stranger.” 

Brandon Stark. Rhaenys knew the name. Her grandfather had him and his father Rickard killed. Lord Rickard was burned alive while Brandon watched; the latter was eventually strangled to death. Rhaenys swallowed the burning tea; it seems that the only kindness the Targaryens have shown the Starks is when they died.

“But I did my duty.” Lady Stark continued. Even after Brandon died and I was married to his brother, a second stranger. I did my duty and love soon followed.”

Rhaenys wondered if she would ever truly love Robb. The love she felt for him was no different than her love for Sansa, Arya, Bran, Jon, or any of her Dornish cousins. How could that ever change?

“My Lady, the love that stories and songs speak of…if they surely exist, then how would I know?”

Lady Stark smiled. “You will know because one day, you will say that the songs and stories were wrong. A drunken bard or a starry-eyed maiden only speak and sing of a love so cloy. But the love the gods intend for us is not kind. If you truly love someone, then you will walk through the flames to reach him and in return, he will kiss your burnt skin away. It is a wildfire so righteous and ardent, only the cursed and the damned would dare to douse it.”

\---

{294 AC}

Rhaenys was now fourteen, the same Arianne was the last time she saw her; albeit taller and less buxom than her cousin had been. Men were starting to look at her differently; even Theon teased her for far more different reasons now. 

“I never kissed a Dornish girl before.” He prodded one day, giving Rhaenys a cocky smile. He was fifteen now, almost a man grown; the gods old and new knew he already thought like one. They were in the stables, where Rhaenys was saddling Stormy. A stableboy could have done it, but she preferred to saddle her own horse.

“Enjoy the drought Greyjoy.” Rhaenys snorted. Theon chuckled, patting Stormy on her neck. 

“Then I shall pray for rain, Princess.” 

“May the gods old and new drown you.” She muttered, offering the mare a cube of sugar. Stormy happily nuzzled the palm of Rhaenys’ hand.

“What is dead may never die.” Theon replied, speaking the words of the ironborn and their Drowned God. “You’ve never kissed a man, have you?”

Rhaenys said nothing. Of course she hadn’t. Her betrothed was eleven years old and she was perfectly content to wait. She glared at him as she mounted Stormy. “You are no different than a squid Theon. Keep your tentacles to yourself.”

Theon grinned. “As you wish Rhaenys…but dare I say, you might like it.” He winked at her and sauntered out of the stables.

“Seven hells!” Rhaenys swore. 

— 

Outside the stables, Lord Stark and Hullen were overseeing Arya, who was learning to ride a pony. Lady Stark thought Arya was still too young, but the five year old was very adamant and her father finally relented. As Rhaenys approached, Arya cried out “Rhaenys, watch me!” as Hullen led the pony in a circle. Arya sat in the saddle like a seasoned rider, her back straight and head high; she certainly took to riding more than Sansa did. 

“You’re doing very well.” Rhaenys said, as Stormy whinnied. 

“I’m going to outride you and Robb and Jon and Theon and Sansa one day!” Arya said proudly. 

Rhaenys laughed. “I would not doubt that.” Arya beamed.

“Can I come with you?” She asked before looking to her father, her grey eyes round. “Can I go with Rhaenys, Father?”

Lord Stark looked amused. “Not on the pony, sweetling. Your mother would have my head.”

“My Lord, she can ride with me.” Rhaenys suggested. “We won't go far.”

Arya beseeched, as she bid Hullen to take her from the pony’s back so she could dart to Lord Stark and hug his legs. He chuckled as he struggled to keep balance. “Ah go along, you wild thing.” He looked to Rhaenys. “Jory goes with you and you will all keep away from the woods. Ser Rodrik said wolves have been restless and venturing into the town.” 

“Yes my lord.” Rhaenys said, as Arya ran to her, absolutely thrilled. Lord Stark sent for Jory as Hullen lifted Arya onto Stormy. 

“If the wolves are growing curious, it means snowfall will follow.” He said as Rhaenys secured Arya. For all her time in the north, it hadn’t snowed because of the long summer.

“Winter?” Rhaenys asked, the Stark words in mind; _Winter is Coming_.

“No Princess. Not quite yet.” Lord Stark answered as he approached. He patted Stormy’s neck and smiled gravely. “Winter is more than ice and cold. It is darkness and sorrow and tales worthy enough to scare kings.“

“But summer _is_ nearing its passing?” Rhaenys asked curiously. 

“Many say its passing is long overdue. Long summers wane to even longer winters, enough to shroud the entire continent.” Lord Stark said. Arya was quiet, petting Stormy’s mane and listening intently. Lord Stark sighed and reached up to muss Arya’s hair, causing her to giggle. “Enough of that. You both have an adventure to undertake.” After he left, Hullen turned to Rhaenys.

“The southron Houses believe Lord Stark warning to be fallacy. The summer made them content and lazy.” He sighed. “But know this Princess… in the end, the Starks are always right.”

—

Rhaenys kept to the very edge of the wolfswood as instructed by Jory. The skies were nearly white and heavy with great grey clouds, giving them both a sense of uneasiness. Only Arya seemed unbothered, her eyes taking in the harsh beauty of the wilderness.

When the cold winds came, Jory insisted they return in to the castle.

The snow started to fall as they entered the inner wall. Enthralled, both Arya and Rhaenys reveled as they dismounted. They prodded at the white blanketing the ground with the toe of their boots. Arya shrieked with joy and started to run around the courtyard, endearingly getting underfoot, Rhaenys followed suit, much to the amusement of Jory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Stormy looks like in case you were curious: http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/a7/23/6c/a7236c8b2545e6c76a101aa6c6be8b6e.jpg


	6. to love a wild thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been almost ten years since Rhaenys' arrival to the north with all her dread and hate. Who would have known she'd grow to love that Stark boy?

{300 AC}

Rhaenys stood with little Rickon who was perched onto a saddle that was left out on a wooden beam. They watched as Bran nocked an arrow onto his bowstring. Robb and Jon stood by him, observing and muttering instructions. Bran looked nervous, glancing up at his parents. He released the arrow and all watched as it flew into a barrel, nowhere near the intended target. 

Frustrated, he kicked up the dust at his feet. Jon clasped Bran by his shoulders, his words were too low to be heard. Bran nodded and nocked another arrow. Letting it fly, the arrow streaked pass the target and into the bushes behind the target. Rickon started to chortle and Rhaenys bit her lip to stifle her own laugh, out of respect for poor Bran. Robb and Jon both snickered as Lord Stark called out “And which one of you were a marksman at ten?” He nodded encouragingly at Bran. “Try again Bran.” 

For a third time he nocked an arrow, straightening his back and relaxing his arm as Robb said. Before Bran could do anything else, another arrow shot past him and pinned the middle of the target. Everyone, along with a scandalized Bran whipped around to spot Arya, gleeful and with a bow in hand. She smiled sweetly and curtsied, and Bran threw down his bow and ran after her. Laughter won out, as the two gave chase around the yard. 

Her belly aching from laughing, Rhaenys turned around to find Robb smiling at her. Her face growing warm, she turned away and luckily for her, Rickon chose that moment to jump from the saddle; she managed to catch him in time. “Take care Rickon, before you give your mother a fright.” She chided, taking the five-year old in her arms. “So-ree Rhae-nee” he sang, squirming so she would put him down. He sped off, mostly likely to join Arya and Bran. 

“Rhaenys.” 

She spun around and Robb was there, still smiling. _Gods, when did he get so tall?_ She thought, recalling the days when she was taller than him and she had to look down to face him. Now Rhaenys had to look up at him. Of course, Robb was seventeen now, a far way from the child Rhaenys knew. 

“Robb.” She replied. 

He offered her his arm. “Care to walk with me, Princess?”

Rhaenys did and the two walked across the yard, very aware of Lord and Lady Stark watching them. 

\---

There was a dark yet alluring call echoing from the heart of the godswood. Robb prayed to both the Old Gods of the Forest and the Faith of the Seven. Rhaenys kept to her faith to the New Gods, but there was something comforting about the living woods. She and Robb kept to the to heart tree, a great weirwood, white as bone with pointed blood-red leaves. A face as melancholy and old as can be was carved into the bark, the cuts of its eyes dried with dark red sap.

Robb stood at the edge of the pond, listening as the winds rustled through the many trees of the godswood. Rhaenys felt something heavy grow in her chest as she watched him. 

When she was younger, she fretted day and night about how she could ever learn to truly love her playmate, and if he would ever love her. Perhaps she would be content with her luck; she’d be wed to a friend rather than a stranger.

When Robb turned fifteen, girls looked at him differently than they used to. Sansa’s best friend Jeyne Poole grew dreamy-eyed whenever Robb was around. Even the servant girls older than Rhaenys blushed and whispered. 

Then one day, Robb looked at her and Rhaenys felt her heart flutter. She was certain if she did not turn away, her fingertips would catch fire.

“Come, Princess.” Robb called out, his hand outstretched. She took it and he pulled her towards him. “You seem at ease with the northern Gods.” He remarked as he wove his fingers into Rhaenys’. 

“I lived in the north for nearly ten years and they’ve never done any harm onto me,” she said. 

“Nor will they ever.” Robb tucked her stray hairs behind her ear, and his light touch caused gooseflesh to prickle down her neck.

“Robb, you haven’t brought me to the godwood to pray with you.” Rhaenys said, feigning accusation. Yet, her heart felt like a hammer to an anvil. Robb chuckled. “You are much too clever Rhaenys.” 

She scrunched her nose and simpered. “Is this what northernmen do? Lead vulnerable girls into the woods?”

Robb pretended to look slighted. “You think me so wicked, Princess? Perhaps I merely fancied a game of monsters-and-maidens.”

Rhaenys smirked and pulled away from him. “I dare say you’re the monster then.” she said playfully before running into the godswood. Robb cried out and gave chase. Rhaenys’ laugh rang throughout the ominous woods as the two ran, acting as they once did when they were children. 

She ran for some time. Winded, Rhaenys looked behind her and realized that Robb wasn’t there. She stopped, taking that moment to catch her breath. The forest was quiet, save for the call of a bird. Rhaenys looked around her, wondering if she was lost and where Robb could have possibly gone. The godswood may have been enclosed within Winterfell’s walls, but the number of trees seemed countless...

“Robb?” She called out. The wind shook leaves and nothing more.

Then something grabbed her around her middle. 

“Seven hells Robb!” Rhaenys swore, as he growled low in her ear. 

“I got you sweet maiden,” he said smugly. 

“I can see that.” She said as his hands stayed clasped at her belly. “And now we are lost.”

“Princess, you’re only lost when you have given up hope entirely.” Robb said. He released her and took her hand to guide her. They walked in the direction Robb pointed out, their shoulders brushing.

\---

After returning to the heart tree, Rhaenys noticed her reflection in the pond. Her braid had come undone and tangled; Mordane would have a fright and Rhaenys would rather spare herself the reprimand. She combed through the braid with her fingers, until her black hair hung down in loose curls. Robb looked on fondly. “Father once told me that a man who loves a wild thing can be many things, but a craven.

“How is that so?” Rhaenys asked.

“Men prefer iron as steel, to do what he wishes with it. But a wild thing; the iron underneath can never be become steel…and it would be foolish and cowardly to even try.” Robb cupped her face with one hand, his thumb brushing her cheek. Rhaenys’ breath hitched. “Were dragons ever truly tamed Rhaenys?” His other hand found her waist and he pulled her closer.

“N-no.” She said recalling the stories of the Targaryen dragons of old, as Darsha once told her. "The dragons accepted their riders, but it was unheard of to actually break them. But the dragonriders accepted this and claimed it was a sin to even ponder about a truly tamed dragon...” Like a drunkard to his goblet, Rhaenys eagerly took in Robb’s face; his thick red-brown curls, the stubble of his beard, the blue of his eyes that could have put the sky to shame. 

Then he kissed her, in the eyeless sight of the Old Gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that one scene in Game of Thrones where all the Starks were alive and happy? That was a good scene; the show should have ended there. 
> 
> We are now approaching the year where everything goes to absolute hell. I did go with the t.v. show's timeline so everyone is older and this wouldn't get too "awkward" to write. So even though we are now at 300 AC, the canon ASOIAF timeline will continue; just pushed ahead a few years.
> 
> Also, i'm really bad at writing fluff, so please send your well-wishes my may as this series continues.


	7. the dornish in furs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House Martell makes their historic journey to the north for a long awaited wedding.

{300 AC}

Bran spotted the Martell banners first. 

Much to his mother’s chagrin, he had climbed one of the inner walls of the South Gate, eager to catch the glimpse of the small caravan of Dornishmen who braved the moons and miles to make their journey north. 

It has been ten years since Rhaenys last saw her mother’s banners. The thought of seeing the sun-and-spear flutter in the wind again flooded her with joy. She grinned at Bran, who came running to her and Robb and the rest of his family, breathlessly relaying what he saw. His mother sighed and chided him for climbing the wall as everyone looked on in amusement. Throughly chastened, Bran ran to his place between Arya and Rickon. 

Oberyn Martell fronted the caravan, atop a magnificent sand steed that was black as sin, with a mane and tail red as fire. Weaken by gout, Doran was unable to make the arduous journey north; in a letter, he had sent his apologizes and love to Rhaenys. 

_"…Dear Niece you have done your duty, as your mother before you did. My only wish is that you will be honored as she never was…”_

Oberyn was dressed in heavy furs, contrasting to the light red and orange silks he wore in Dorne. His beloved Ellaria Sand rode by his side, also dressed for the north. It was an odd sight to behold; the Dornish in furs and cloaks.

“Prince Oberyn.” Lord Stark greeted. “Welcome to Winterfell.” Oberyn dismounted his steed, as the rest of his company fanned out. 

“Lord Stark.” Oberyn grinned. “Never before has House Martell made the journey north. You honor us.” As he spoke he swept the crowd, looking for his niece. When his eyes found her, his famed viper gaze softened. “…Rhaenys.”

The years have barely touched her uncle’s face, albeit with a few lines. Strands of silver streaked his black hair but he was just as Rhaenys remembered him. “Hello Uncle.” Rhaenys said, her eyes misty. Oberyn embraced her tightly, with ten years worth of love. 

“I saw Elia in your face... my little sun, how you’ve grown.” He murmured in her ear, his voice thick. Upon finally releasing her, Rhaenys felt tears roll down her face. She wiped them away as Robb gently squeezed her hand.

“You must be Robb.” Oberyn said, his voice steady once more. 

“Yes, Prince Oberyn.” Robb answered. Oberyn studied his face, like a viper wondering if and where and when to strike. He said nothing else, and went to greet the rest of the Starks. Rhaeny swallowed her sigh; she was going to have a talk with her uncle later on.

Ellaria was the next to embrace Rhaenys and she acted more warmly to Robb. 

“Please excuse Oberyn.” She said, her voice honeyed and deep as it always was. “He’d raise an army from sand and sea to keep Rhaenys safe.”

“As would I, my lady.” Robb said. 

Ellaria smiled. “Do call me ‘Ellaria’. Where I come from, I am no ‘lady’.”

\--- 

“Gods Rhaenys! How can you stand it?” Arianne hissed, pulling her shawl tighter around herself. Rhaenys laughed. They were in Rhaenys’ chambers (which was kept pleasantly warm throughout the seasons), lounging on her bed and chatting. “Honestly Arianne, it’s not that cold…”

Her cousin snorted. “Was it that simple them? To make a wolf of a dragon? You even sound like the northernfolk!”

“I’ll leave it to you cousin, to make a spectacle out of nothing.” Rhaenys smiled.

“Little dragon, you are to be wed in mere days! And a Targaryen to a Stark-- is that not enough of a spectacle?” Arianne said, her eyebrows raised. 

It was actually. Even the Hand of the King himself was to attend. Apparently, plenty of people were interesting in watching one of the last Targaryens shed her black-and-red; including the Lannisters. The day before, Lord Stark got a raven from Tyrion Lannister, the second of Tywin’s sons, who was to represent his House at the wedding (as _ordered_ by the King). Rhaenys and Robb were not thrilled by this in any way.

“Would you believe that Mother still thinks this marriage so outrageous?” Arianne asked.

“I can, actually…” Rhaenys said, recalling Mellario’s anger. However, her aunt had returned to Norvos some years prior and did not make the journey to Winterfell. 

“Ah well…Mother and Father wed out of only love, no pacts or politics. But I guess they aren’t shining examples of a doting marriage...” 

The two said nothing for a moment, listening to the joyous shrieks of children at play. From her window, Rhaenys could see Bran and Rickon playing monsters-and-maidens with Dorea and Loreza, the youngest daughters of Oberyn and Ellaria.

“But you love your wolf-boy, don’t you?” Arianne mused. 

“Very much.” Rhaenys replied.

“The way he watches you; no foolish stupor or lechery. He is certainly no Rhaegar. Father will be pleased.”

“He has none left to fear.” Rhaenys insisted. “And no wolf would ever test its teeth on me.”

Arianne laughed. “Vipers, dragons, lions, and wolves. You’ve treaded amongst all without a scar to show. How many can say that?” Then, her expression turned mischievous. “So, Rhaenys… you haven’t bedded your wolf-boy yet?”

“Seven hells Arianne!” Rhaenys hissed.

“So you have not? How pious of you…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter seems short and/or boring. I'll make it up in the next one.
> 
> Okaay, who's ready for a wedding where no one dies/gets taken advantage of ???


	8. a crown of winter roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last the wedding between wolf and dragon is held, the first of its kind.

_“The dragon has three heads.” Rhaegar said, his back to Rhaenys as he spoke. His voice was of iron. “Ice and fire. Two sides of the same coin, of a currency one hates to pay with and be paid in.” Rhaenys went to stand by him, to overlook the burning of a magnificent castle. As Rhaegar turned to her, she saw the dark indigo of his eyes turn to flints of stone. “The dragons are dead and winter is coming!” He hissed._

_Frightened, Rhaenys ran from him. She ran into a forest thick with ironwood, some on fire and burning bright blue. Behind her, something roared; a terrible sound that called for death. Then, a massive wolf leapt out of the shadows, causing Rhaenys to fall into the snow. In the light of the blue flames, she could make out its dark grey fur and yellow eyes. She waited for the glint of bone-white teeth. It never came. The wolf approached her without malice. Then it threw back its head and howled._

Rhaenys woke, the wolf’s howling still ringing in her ears. She stumbled out of bed to sweep the drapes aside and make sure nothing that was burning. Thankfully, she was greeted with a lovely blue sky. She sighed and fell onto her bed. Her nightmares came and went but this was something entirely different.

The door creaked open and Ellaria entered, followed by Arianne, Tyene, and Septa Darsha, who was holding a tray laden with breakfast-- hot bread, butter and honey, a rasher of bacon, a wedge of cheese, and a small pot of tea. “Oh, Rhaenys! You’re awake,” Ellaria said quietly. Rhaenys stared at them, wondering why they were all in her chambers at such an early hour. When she remembered, she could have laughed, and her belly immediately filled with fluttering little things.There was much to do, but it all felt like a dream. After Rhaenys ate what little her knotted belly allowed, a basin was brought in and Rhaenys scrubbed herself clean. As she toweled herself dry, Arianne named the different perfumes she brought from Dorne. Rhaenys picked out a scent of jasmines and anointed it on herself; on her wrists, behind her ears, and (as Arianne instructed) on the tips of her breasts and between her thighs. 

After Rhaenys’ was dressed in her silken smallclothes, the seamstress entered the room with the gown. It was a beautiful thing of dove-grey and silver, embroidered and beaded at the bodice. Three silver buttons in the likeness of dragon heads fastened the gown at the front. The sleeves were close-fitted and tight at her wrists, and also embroidered with fine scrollwork. The skirts were long and trailed behind her. Short boots, doeskin and dyed pale grey, laced at her ankle. Ellaria brushed out her hair until it shown like a raven’s wing. Then she braided and arranged it so that the braid encircled her head like a delicate crown, allowing a few hairs to hang down in strands. Finally, Tyene fastened a silver chain dotted with tiny sapphire winter roses–- a namesday gift from Robb-- around Rhaenys' neck. 

Rhaenys could have scarcely believed the girl in the mirror was her. “Woe to be the sun on this cloudless day.” Arianne smirked. “Where else can it hide from you in envy?”

There was a soft knock on the chamber door and Darsha saw to it. She returned, followed by Lady Stark, who wore a dress of deep blue, fastened above the waist with a silver pin in the shape of a wolf’s head. Her auburn hair cascaded behind her back. In her hands was a delicately woven crown of winter roses. "Pardon me, my ladies. If you would not mind, i’d like some time with Rhaenys," Lady Stark said. The three women left, Arianne winking at Rhaenys as she closed the door behind her.

“You look beautiful Rhaenys,” Lady Stark smiled, as she gently placed the crown onto Rhaenys’ head. 

“As do you, my lady.” Rhaenys replied, reaching up to caress the soft blue petals with her fingertip. 

Lady Stark smiled. “Sansa wove the crown herself, after Arya picked the flowers. I must say, it was the first time time Arya was ever so delicate with roses.”

“I’ll be sure thank them both. It’s lovely.”

Lady Stark studied her face. “How are you, Rhaenys?”

“I’m well, my lady,” she replied. She spoke truthfully. Thought, she wondering if her stomach should be in such knots.

“Robb went with his father to seek the blessings of the old gods. He means to bring you before the heart tree after you are wed.”

“Did Lord Stark do the same when you were wed?” Rhaenys asked curiously.

“He did after I came to Winterfell.” Lady Stark smiled at a memory. “He spoke so tenderly and promised that old gods would never bare me hostility, as his wife and Lady of Winterfell. I was a southern girl in a strange land, governed by strange gods. That promise won me over more than pretty words ever could have. ” Lady Stark paused. “Of course, it would seem that Robb has already won your favor a thousand times over.”

“He is my sun, my moon, and my song.” Rhaenys said unyieldingly. Such words were sweet, but they only mantled the fire underneath.

“There is not a doubt in the North that you love him, and he loves you.” Lady Stark said, taking Rhaenys’ hand. “And there is no doubt of mine; you shall be a good and true wife to him.”

"I will be," Rhaenys vowed. 

Lady Stark gently squeezed her hand, and glanced at the window. “Ah, it’s nearly midday,” she said, and Rhaenys’ heart fluttered. 

—

The Great Hall was nearly empty, but only for now. Servants ran about, adjusting candlesticks and garlands of flowers, shouting about one thing and another. Rhaenys sat alone at a chair, waiting for the guests to be assembled in the sept. Winterfell’s sept was a small one; deciding where all the guests would be was a challenge for Vayon Poole. “Rhaenys! What are you doing here?” Lord Stark called out as he entered the hall. He dressed modestly as he always did yet his nobility was befitting.

“I… wasn’t sure where to wait,” she replied, feeling stupid about her answer. Lady Stark went to help a rather nettled Arya who still hadn’t finish dressed, much to her mother’s chagrin.

Lord Stark sat at a chair beside her. “You look lovely, princess.” 

“That is kind of you to say, my lord.” 

“A kindness that should betide every girl on her wedding day.” Lord Stark looked thoughtful. “And before the sun sets, you’ll be known as Lady Rhaenys.

“I’d give up a thousand titles to be Robb’s wife.” 

“You already have, in a way,” Lord Stark sighed. “As Tyrion Lannister so generously informed me.”

The Lannister had arrived the morning before; the dwarf Tyrion and his cousins Lancel and Tyrek. He certainly was the Imp, with his stubby legs, jutting forehead, and mispaired eyes of green and black. What he lacked in size, he made up with tongue. _“Rhaenys Targaryen.” He had greeted her. “I have heard plenty about you.” Rhaenys curtsied like a proper lady but bit her own tongue untill she tasted blood. Tywin Lannister’s son stood before and how she wanted to plunge a dagger through his ugly black eye ._

_To Lord Stark, The Imp said: “Rhaegar’s daughter and Lyanna’s nephew-- the gods certainly have their jests don’t they Lord Stark?”_

“How so?” Rhaenys asked, wondering what possibly lead the Imp to make such a conclusion.

“In the natural line of succession, the Iron Throne could be yours by right.” Rhaenys had long realized that, but such a thought would cost her head. “Women _can_ inherit," Lord Stark continued. "When no other true-born male heirs are left. Though, it is different in Dorne…But as your uncle Viserys still lives, the line falls to him.”

“Viserys lives?” Rhaenys asked, her eyes widening in surprise. She could still remember her uncle, only a couple of years older than herself. But she thought both him and her aunt Daenerys dead and rotting in the Essos some time ago.

“According to Jon Arryn, very much so and very intent on reclaiming the throne. Some even call him the Begger King.”

 _The Begger King_. Barefoot and ragged and insisting for a crown of gold to put on his head. Rhaenys was glad she wasn’t on Dragonstone with him all those years ago. She was perfectly content with her crown of winter roses.

“None of which is yours to worry about.” Lord Stark remarked. “Your marriage will be good tidings for King Robert.”

Just them, Prince Oberyn entered the hall, finely dressed in marigold and red silk, and looking merry. A black cloak was draped over his arm. “Lord Stark, Rhaenys,” he greeted, his smile wide. 

“Prince Oberyn,” Lord Stark received, before turning to Rhaenys. “Excuse me, Rhaenys. We shall meet again in the sept.” 

As he left, Oberyn grinned. “My sweet Rhaenys, your beauty would put every girl in Westeros to shame.” Rhaenys giggled. Everyone thought her lovely, but she dearly wanted to hear those words from one man. Her uncle held out the cloak; a maiden’s cloak, black velvet and inlain with black patterns that twisted like vines. A three-headed dragon was embroidered upon it in red thread and beads. “This is the cloak Rhaegar draped on your mother when he took her for his wife,” he said, fastening it around her neck with a delicate black chain. “Before Elia, it was your grandmother Rhaella’s maiden and bridal cloak.” 

Rhaenys reached out to grip the cloak's hem, to feel the soft velvet between her fingertips. Everything was becoming so real. Oberyn kissed her forehead, offering her his arm. “Are you ready little sun? Your wolf awaits you.” 

—

Northern lords and ladies were waiting, lined along the path to the sept. Since many of them kept to the old gods, none took offense for having to be crowded into or gathered around the doors of the small sept (much to Vayon Poole’s relief). They bowed their heads in respect as Oberyn led Rhaenys to the sept. Jon Snow stood just outside the open door, grinning as Rhaenys walked passed him. Theon Greyjoy was just to the side of him, winking as she passed by. Tyrion Lannister and his cousins were also crowded to the door, keen to watch the last dragon’s daughter lose her black-and-red. Lord Edmure Tully, brother of Lady Stark, smiled kindly at her. 

Inside, the sept was illumined beautifully with candles and crowded with the people that Rhaenys loved the most; the exception of course was Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, standing with the Starks. The Starks and Martells (and Sands) were gathered on opposing sides of the sept. Rickon waved excitedly at her while Sansa tried to grab his hand to stop him. Arya grinned, her brown braids already looking untidy, and Bran smiled, his blue eyes bright in the candlelights. 

And between the carved wooden masks of the Mother and the Father, Robb awaited her. He wore a doublet of black. The shirt beneath dark grey with black scrollwork; the same color and pattern as his cape which was joined by a pair of silver direwolf heads. He smiled at her as he usually did; that knowing and loving smile he kept only for her. In the candlelight, his azure eyes were slightly misty. After what seemed like a thousand years, Rhaenys was finally by his side.

Oberyn unfastened the cloak and went to stand with Ellaria. Septon Chayle cleared this throat. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” he said to Robb. Rhaenys turned around so that he could drape a cloak of white velvet and scrollwork upon her shoulders; she couldn’t see it, but a direwolf of silver was embroidered upon it. As Robb fastened the silver chain, his hand brushed against her neck. Rhaenys turned around to face him, and Chayle asked them to join hands as he tied them together with a white ribbon. “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity…look upon one another and say the words.“ Rhaenys and Robb spoke in unison.

"Father, Smith, Warrior…”

“… Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,”

“I am hers…”

“…and he is mine,” 

“…from this day until the end of my days.”

“With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband.” Rhaenys said softly.

“With this kiss I pledge my love,” Robb murmured “and take you for my lady and wife.” He moved closer to her, wrapping his free arm around her waist as they kissed. 

Chayle untied the ribbon and raised a crystal high above, allowing a rainbow to fall upon them. “Here in the sight of gods and men, I do solemnly proclaim Robb of House Stark and Rhaenys of House Targaryen to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.”

—

“Praise the gods old and new for such a beautiful thing.” Robb murmured in Rhaenys’ ear, before kissing her cheek. Their fingers were laced together as they led their wedding procession into the godswood. Everyone gathered at the edge, as Robb took Rhaenys before the heart tree.They knelt in front of it and Robb spoke, his voice low.

“I am Robb of House Stark, Heir to Winterfell, and I have brought this woman before you. I have claimed her for my wife and she comes to beg for the blessings of the gods.” 

Rhaenys bowed her head and started a silent prayer. _I worship the Seven as my mother and father before me, but I beg for the protection and counsel of the gods of the forest, as the wife of a Stark and fated mother of his children._ She raised her head, gazing into the red carved eyes of the heart tree’s face. _But above all, protect him. Protect Robb. You must know how much I love him._

“My lady.” Robb said, offering her his hand. She took it and they both rose from the ground. 

“My lord” Rhaenys murmured, reaching up to kiss him once more.

—

A grand wedding feast was held in the Great Hall. It had been some time since the hall had seen so much people and food. Rhaenys and Robb sat at the raised dais, along with Lord and Lady Stark, Oberyn, Ellaria, and Jon Arryn. The younger Starks and Sands were seated at a table of their own, which later proved to be a unwise decision. Arya and Obella decided it would be great time to figure out who could throw a plum the furthest. Obara quickly placed an end to such a contest. Rickon threw a plum anyway and it had the luck of barely missing Lord Wyman Manderly. Rhaenys and Robb barely contained themselves as they watched it happen.

Ever so often, Oberyn would look up to glare at the three Lannisters, who were on the other side of the room. After enough summerwine, Tyrion had the boldness to approach the Robb and Rhaenys to congratulate them. “My lady, as long as your offspring don’t sprout dragon wings and fly to King’s Landing, Robert shouldn’t send men to slit your pretty throat,” he proclaimed, raising his cup to them. Robb coldly and curtly thanked him as Rhaenys looked down at her honeyed duck, her appetite gone.

When a fiddler struck up a familiar tune, Robb pulled Rhaenys along, requesting a dance. Bright with smiles, they ran to the middle of the hall as onlookers cheered. Rhaenys coyly curtsied as Mordane said to do when a lord asked for a dance, and Robb responded in kind before taking her hand and spinning her around once. Others soon followed, dancing around the newly made husband and wife, with many singing along to Fair Maids of Summer. Rhaenys espied Trystane walking over to ask Sansa to dance. Tyene had pulled Jon Snow to his feet, the latter blushing. Beth Cassel, Rodrick’s little girl, looked on with wide eyes. Her father wasn’t one for music, and made no sudden movements. 

Robb hand went to Rhaenys' waist, the two gazing upon each other until the song ended. Brimming with happiness, Rhaenys pressed her brow to his, and they kissed. 

Several songs later, Rhaenys sought out Jon when Arianne borrowed Robb for a dance. Jon was never one for dancing. He protested as Rhaenys grasped his arm. "It’s my wedding Jon Snow.” Rhaenys pouted. “As the eventual bastard uncle of my children, you owe me a dance.” 

Jon sighed as he allowed Rhaenys to pull him along. “Of all the girls Robb could have married, he got stuck with the most prickly one,” he teased.

“Shut up or i’ll stick you.” Rhaenys suggested. As so he did, humoring her. Jon danced like he was walking on brittle ice, careful to not tread on her toes or skirts. Rhaenys didn’t laugh at him and just followed his lead in delicate steps. He was more than relieved was the song was over. Only then did Rhaenys chortle, throwing her arms around her bastard good-brother’s neck.

—

Robb and Rhaenys were sat back at the head of the hall when someone roared: “bed them!” Amused, they looked on as laughter and more chants of “bed them!” erupted and a few drunken men started to sing “The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown.” Rhaenys carefully off took her crown of winter roses and set it on the table. She preferred to not watch it get plucked apart to bits. Looking over to Robb, she saw that Arianne, Tyene, and Sarella got to him first, pulling him from the chair. She chortled as he beamed at her. “Pray for me, my lady!” he called out.

Theon and Daemon Sand both sauntered over to her, grasping her by the arms and leading her away. Theon started to tug strongly at the buttons of her gown. “Rip my dress and I will kill you Theon!” Rhaenys laughed. 

“My lady, I could have you bare before this hall in little time,” Theon smirked. Torrhen Karstark, and Cletus Yronwood joined him, loud and rosy with wine. 

Rhaenys thanked the gods that the Lannister men had the sense to only watch; had any of them touched her, she would've made certain that none of them could ever touch a woman again. But soon enough, the lions were far at the back of her mind as Daemon, Theon and Rodrik Forrester lead her away. Torren and Cletus began undressing her, telling her every ribald joke they knew. Someone began to sing a bawdy song about a Dornishgirl.

She was very nearly stripped when they took her to the bridal chamber. Daemon accidentally tore her smallclothes as he tried to get them off. When Rhaenys was naked and dropped onto the bed, Torren guffawed and said her wolf was coming to ravish her. An very unclothed Robb was led into the room by Arianne, Tyene, Sarella, Nymeria, Wynafryd Manderly, and Alysane Mormont, and they pushed him next to his wife. They left the couple alone, staying outside the closed door to make their lewd suggestions.

“Seven hells.” Robb muttered, enticing a giggle from Rhaenys. 

“When they are lord or lady of their house, I will surely remind them of the night they lessoned me on how to bed my husband.” 

Robb chucked, positioning himself to that he was atop her. Their bare skin touched and Rhaenys felt gooseflesh riddle down her neck, as if setting a trail of fire beneath her fingertips and between her legs. She caressed his cheek with one hand. Robb cupped her face with both hands and kissed her forehead. Then he grew more fervent, kissing her nose and lips before bestrewing her neck with kisses, his hand wandering from her breast to the inside of her thigh. When Rhaenys crooned his name with labored breath, Robb returned to her mouth, his kiss more wolfish than any he ever gave her. Rhaenys dragged her nails down his back, grazing and marking him, and kissing him in return with evenly matched fervid. 

Robb would make a she-wolf of her yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter i've written so far.
> 
> I added that "reciting the seven wedding vows" from the tv show because that was one of the VERY few things that wasn't in the books/added to the show that I actually liked. As for Robb's asking for the blessing from the old gods, I just played around with the northern wedding vows.
> 
> Also have no idea how small Winterfell's sept is. Please excuse that.
> 
> AND thank you to everyone who's left a kudos and comment! I'm surprised/happy the series was so positively received. This is the first longest series I ever worked on.


	9. teeth and antlers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Stark child is expected.

{300 AC}

Nearly two month after marrying Robb, a soft swell came to Rhaenys’ belly and her breasts became tender. She hadn’t even noticed that her moonblood stopped. 

By royal order, Lord Stark had sent a raven to King’s Landing, to let Jon Arryn know that Rhaenys was with child. Her first born was the babe that frightened King Robert so much. Rhaenys silently scoffed. Her son would be Lord of Winterfell someday and Robert was just as mad as her grandfather.

—

More than anything, Rhaenys hoped to be the mother Elia never got to be.

But being pregnant proved to be rather boring, as Maester Luwin urged Rhaenys not to do anything risky. Risky meant everything that she preferred to do, from riding to hunting. But Rhaenys did her duty to her unborn child, spending days doing whatever lacked peril, such as needlework. However, she claimed needlework was just as risky; perhaps her stitches could be crooked enough for Mordane to kill her out of rage. Arya doubled over with laughter as Rhaenys said this; the idea of her stern and proper septa murdering someone was clearly outrageous. The two wondered how cross Mordane would have to be in order to get blood on her starched white robes.

Rhaenys also spent much time in Winterfell’s library, a warm and cozy place, reading book after book. Septon Chayle’s suggestions were worthwhile, from books accounting King Torrhen Stark, the last King in the North, to the Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen, who doubled the size of the Night’s Watch. 

One evening, Robb found Rhaenys in the library, nearly asleep on an armchair by the fire and carried to her bed. She sleepily proposed baby names as Robb kissed her plump stomach through her dress. 

“Perhaps Rickard? Maybe Alysanne or Elia for a girl…”

“Elia?” Robb mused, giving Rhaenys’ belly a final kiss before resting his head on her pillow.

“I know… it’s not a northern–”

“Rhae. There’s a place for Elia in Winterfell.” Robb said reassuringly. 

—

Another month later, Rhaenys felt rows of teeth rip at her belly as if something was trying to chew her baby away from her womb. 

Whatever it was, it had succeeded. 

—

Rhaenys was weaken and tormented with fevers. The septas and Lady Stark prayed over her often and hung a prayer wheel with an effigy of the Mother over Rhaenys’ bed. When she wasn’t in the throes of fever dreams, Rhaenys was awake with tears, grieving for the teeth marks in her womb where a baby should have been.

Robb took his solace with her, comforting her with assurance and kisses and tending her to after her fever dreams. A febrile Rhaenys grew paranoid that the gods would try to steal Robb away from her, since they seemed intent on taking everything she loved away. 

—

After eleven days of being abed, Rhaenys had most her strength returned to her. Her mood had also improved, especially after Luwin said her womb would quicken again. She yearned to venture outside the castle, growing tired of being bedridden and fussed over. That night in bed, Robb promised to take her hawking with him on the morrow, after he and the others returned to Winterfell. Lord Stark and twenty others were traveling to see the king’s justice done to an offender found outside a holdfast near Winterfell.

“What had he done?” Rhaenys asked him curiously.

“None of us are quite sure, but I think he’s a wilding sworn to Mance Rayder. ”

“Robb, what would a wilding be doing so far south from the Wall?” Wildlings were known to cross and raid villages and holdfasts in the Gift, but this particular one was so close to Winterfell and seemed to be alone in his venture.

“Nothing good, I would imagine.” Robb said, his smile grim. “Don’t worry, I won’t allow a wilding to steal you away.”

Rhaenys snorted. “I have already let a bearded northern man into my bed. I’ve learned to never lower my guard.” That being said, she nestled her head in the crook of his neck, her arm across his chest.

Robb chucked.“You’ve more to learn then.” 

—

On the morning, after Lord Stark’s retinue left, Sansa helped Rhaenys to the Great Hall to break their fast. They were joined by Arya, Rickon, and Mordane. Arya seemed annoyed that Bran was allowed to join their father and she wasn’t.

“The king’s justice is not meant for a lady’s eyes.” Mordane said. Sansa nodded in agreement.

“And why would you want to watch a man lose his head Arya?” Sansa asked, her nose wrinkling at the thought.

“Not just a man, a wilding!” Arya insisted. “Old Nan said wildings wedded giants and ghouls and had babies with the Others.”

“Arya Stark, you will say no such things!” Mordane warned.

“I doubt the man your lord-father will behead is half-Other.” Rhaenys chimed in. “He’d be more likely a wildling who claimed he got lost while looking for the Wall.”

Arya shrugged and proceeded to stab her black sausage with a fork, not bothering with the knife. 

—

Rhaenys giggled as the direwolf pup licked her face. This one was smoky- grey and yellow-eyed and had prompted Rhaenys to recall the dream she had on the morning of her wedding. Her recollection was lost as the pup squirmed in her arms, his tail thrashing from side-to-side. Robb smiled, holding a milk-soaked towel to the pup’s mouth. It began to suckle the towel and Rhaenys stroked his fur.

“He’ll be larger than pony someday.” Robb said. “You should have seen his mother.”

Robb had found the pups during Lord Stark’s return to Winterfell, trying to nurse their dead mother. Direwolves have not been seen south of the Wall for nearly two hundred years. Now there were six; one for each of the true-born Stark children, and a snow-white red-eyed pup that Jon claimed. They all sat around in the kitchen, tending to the pups and thinking of names. Sansa who feared wild creatures, was enchanted by her pup. Rickon was still weary, straying away from his even as Jon tried to reassure him.

“Your mother is worried.” Rhaenys said in a low voice, as the pup gnawed on the towel. 

Robb furrowed his brow. “About the direwolves? We well-nigh swore an oath to care for them–”

“No. About their mother.” 

She spoke of when Jory told Lady Stark, how they came about the direwolf pups, the mother apparently killed by a piece of antler, she stiffened as if overtaken by a fierce chill. Rhaenys knew it would take more than a monstrous corpse in the snow to perturb the Lady of Winterfell. Robb seemed incredulous.

“She frets about broken antlers?” 

“Broken antlers were enough to fell a direwolf.” Rhaenys muttered. Robb had no time or faith with omens, good or bad. Rhaenys thought she didn’t either, but still… Stags were never highly honored in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a horrible person.


	10. when the east wind reaches north

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Robert journeys north to Winterfell, unknowingly readying the pieces for a dangerous game.

As the sun rose, Rhaenys rode out to the edge of the Wolfswood. Robb, Theon, Hullen, and Jory were within the wood, tracking deer and hoping to bag more than a couple for the evening’s feast. Gods knew it would take more than a couple of slabs of venison to satiate a retinue of nearly three hundred.

Rhaenys sighed, skirting around the woods and searching the skies for her gyrfalcon; the creature was as white as the sky itself. She caught a glimpse of mottled feathers as it lunged talons first towards the ground. Rhaenys spurred Stormy to collect what fell victim to the bird; a plump rabbit. 

“Good catch Silverwing.” Rhaenys said as she slid off her horse. The gyrfalcon shrieked at her before flying off again. As she stuffed the rabbit into her game bag, Rhaenys looked to the Wolfswood for the hunting party. She wanted a bit of peace before King Robert’s arrival, opting to skirt around the wood alone with Silverwing. It was nearly a month of travel between King’s Landing and Winterfell and as the distance shorten, Rhaenys' dread grew.

The day the direwolf pups were found, a letter came from King’s Landing, written in the King’s hand, about the death of Jon Arryn. He had suddenly taken ill one day and was gone the very next. Lord Arryn had fostered the King and Lord Stark and was more or less a second father to them both. The King spurred north to mourn with Lord Stark. Or so is what everyone supposed.

All Rhaenys knew that she would finally look into the eyes of the man who killed her father and took her family’s throne. Who raptured her brother’s death and, for some time, called for hers.

Rhaenys mounted her mare once more. _I am the blood of the dragon and the wife of a wolf,_ she thought to herself. _Fear isn’t mine to feel, it’s mine to give_. She spurred back to the wood, just in time to see a stag scamper out, an arrow embedded in one of its back legs . Somewhere in the sky, Silverwing gave a deathly screech before plummeting. Rhaenys nearly felt sorry for the wounded creature; when it came to bigger game, Silverwing liked to attack their eyes first.

Surely enough, as Rhaenys rode towards the thrashing stag, Silverwing was ripping at its eyes and face with her talons. A direwolf raced out of the woods, a blur of grey fur, finally bringing down the stag.

“Grey Wind!” Robb and Jory galloped from the wood, the former calling for his wolf. Grey Wind yelped, his muzzle streaked with blood. He had grown quite a bit since being found. Rhaenys called to the gyrfalcon and the bird flew over to perch on her gauntlet.

“So which one of you nearly lost the stag?” Rhaenys wondered out loud.

“Hullen actually.” Jory said. “He heard your bird cry and was startled. Nearly fell from his horse...but don’t let him know I told you that.”

Robb dismounted to survey the dead beast. “I would have hated to lose this stag. It was the largest we’ve seen in some time.”

“You’re welcome.” Rhaenys said. Blood was still dripping from Silverwing’s talons and onto her gauntlet and cloak.

Robb smiled up at her. “Maester Luwin was certain that tiny gyrfalcon wouldn’t last a fortnight. Yet there she sits on your hand, like a queen on a throne.”

Jory snorted. “A vicious queen at that.” He pointed to the stag’s eyes; one of them had been ripped out and the other was oozing with blood and fluid.

Rhaenys shrugged. “If I wanted my bird to be a lady, I would’ve had her take lessons with Septa Mordane.”

\---

The visitors streamed into the courtyard, a river of gold and steel and banners. Two men fronted the retinue, each carrying Baratheon banners; yellow and black with a stag’s head. Behind them were two more men, with Lannister banners in hand. Rhaenys would have been glad to never see those lion emblazoned things again.

“Where’s Arya?” Lady Stark asked, looking around. “Sansa, where’s your sister?” Sansa shrugged and her mother sighed. Nearly everyone in Winterfell was gathered at the mouth of the North Gate, moments after Bran told his father of the King’s closeness to Winterfell. 

Rows and rows of men trotted in, wearing the golden armor and white cloaks of the Kingsguard. They surrounded a dour-faced and blond-haired boy, who could not have been that much older than Sansa; Rhaenys guessed this was the crown prince, Joffery. She watched as Joffery smiled at Sansa as he rode pass the Starks. Sansa sweetly smiled back and the prince continued to hold his gaze at her as he stopped his horse. Robb looked to Sansa and then to Joffery, looking sullen. There was something cold and unsettling about Joffery’s smile.

Suddenly, Arya ran pass her mother, a helm on her head, which caused some people to smile with amusement. Lord Stark stopped her to remove the helm and sent her to stand between Sansa and Bran. “Move!” Arya whispered to her brother.

More horses and more men galloped in. Finally, a wheelhouse and a huge man came to a halt. “Ned!” the man called out. When Lord Stark bent the knee, all followed. Rhaenys’ heart pummeled in her chest. She dared to glance up, as the King struggled briefly to dismount his warhorse. He strode towards them and Rhaenys’ eyes met the ground once more. She felt Robb brush her shoulder with his. 

Lord Stark rose, as did everyone else. “Your Grace.” He greeted, dipping his head. All waited with bated breath, as the courtyard went silent.

“…You’ve gotten fat.” King Robert finally said. Lord Stark looked at him, before raising his brow at the sight of the king’s great belly. More silence. Then, the two laughed heartily and embraced like brothers.

“Cat!” The King smiled, pulling her into an embrace. He mussed Rickon’s hair before making his way along the line of Starks. 

“Damn it Ned. Nine years. Where have you been?” King Robert sighed.

“Holding the North and keeping the King’s peace, Your Grace.” Lord Stark answered.

King Robert said nothing, as his eyes found Rhaenys. “This is her then?” He stood in front of her, his gaze cold with contempt as he studied her.

“Your Grace.” Rhaenys said as she curtsied. 

“Jon Arryn had said you looked like your mother. But I can still see _him_.” King Robert grunted. “Seven hells, I killed him myself, yet he’s still here!” Rhaenys bit onto her tongue until it bled, her heart in her throat. The entire courtyard had become deathly still.

“I would not dare speak ill of Lord Arryn," the king finally said, dark blue eyes burning. "You had his confidence and he took that to his crypt. I’d hate to see that wasted on you.” King Robert gave Robb a firm handshake and nothing else, before moving on along the line of Stark children. Rhaenys felt Robb’s finger’s entwined with hers. 

Queen Cersei walked over to greet the Stark. She was very beautiful, with emerald green-eyes and cascading blond hair that shown that spun gold. But her smile was haughty and didn’t match the light in her eyes.

“My Queen.” Lord Stark greeted, kissing her hand.

“Take me to your crypts. I want to pay my respects.” King Robert ordered, his voice tinging with authority. The queen turned to her husband. “You ought to rest, my love.” She said. “You’ve been riding for a month. Your children are tired. Surely, the dead can wait?” But the king merely glared coldly at his wife before calling for a lantern. Queen Cersei turned away, looking to a man who was just as beautiful as she was. Jaime Lannister. The queen’s twin brother and Rhaenys’ savior all those years ago. 

Lord Stark took his leave, leading King Robert to Winterfell’s crypts. The queen properly greeted Lady Stark and the children. “Pay no heed to my husband.” She said to Rhaenys. “The dead haunt him from sun up to sun down.” She introduced her children, Joffery, Myrcella, and Tommen. Joffery kissed Sansa’s hand and told her it was such a pleasure to meet such a radiant lady. 

“May I ask the whereabouts of Lord Tyrion?” Lady Stark asked. “We were told he too had made the journey north.”

“My brother had taken a detour, if you will.” Ser Jaime answered, his smile bright and genuine. “He sought, ah, recreation in the winter town.” 

\---

The feast was a lively affair, attended by enough people to raise a stronghold. The king and queen sat with Lord and Lady Stark at the raised platform that fronted the Great Hall. King Robert had certainly drank his weight in wine and called for more. Queen Cersei grew more sullen at each goblet. Rhaenys couldn’t help but think that Lord Stark looked more kingly than Robert. 

Rhaenys sat between Robb and Theon, at a table that was grown rather rowdy as the night went on. Jon’s bastardy had him sat at the far end of the hall with the squires. Sansa, Arya and Bran were sat with the royal children, along with Jeyne Poole. The two older girls whispered to each excitedly while Arya looked bored.

Eventually King Robert left the platform to join some members of his guard, demanding for more wine and the company of one of the servant girls; he even kissed her, in the sight of the hall and his queen. Queen Cersei looked on, her lips pursed. Rhaenys had a feeling this wasn’t an uncommon sight for her; she felt sorry for her.

Lord Stark also left the hall to speak with his wisp of a brother Benjen. He was the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch, and came to Winterfell to help secure recruits. Jon mentioned that he wished to join the Night’s Watch, eager to prove himself without the shadow of Winterfell looming over him. 

Robb and Rhaenys watched as Sansa was summoned to the platform, to speak to the queen. “Mother mentioned that the king wants to marry his eldest to Sansa.” Robb said, his voice low enough for only Rhaenys to hear. 

“Marry Sansa, to _that_?” Rhaenys whispered, full of contempt. Joffery might have worn a princely mask whenever Sansa was near, but that was it. He held a disdain for Winterfell and its people, sharing his mother’s arrogance as well as her look. 

“I don’t like it either, but what will Mother and Father do? Refuse the king?” Robb said. “He could count as treason if he wanted.” Rhaenys glanced at Joffery, who seemed absolutely smitten as he gazed at Sansa; but it was nothing like the look Robb would give Rhaenys. Sansa returned to her place beside Jeyne, looking rather pink as she glimpsed at Joffery.

“I think I need more wine.” Robb said.

\---

Candles were still being re-lit and the hall had grown noisy with drunken song. Robb had placed his arm around Rhaenys’ shoulder, pulling her close. Theon was telling some ribald story about a woman and a bear. Ever so often, Rhaenys would stop laughing and glance up to find the queen staring at her, emerald eyes slightly cold. 

After Arya had (apparently) thrown food at her sister, Robb left to take her to bed. At that moment, King Robert decided to loudly recount his victory at the Trident. Rhaenys could only listen as the king went into great and gory detail about killing Rhaegar.

“He thought he bested me, but before he could gloat, I struck him with my war hammer!” He slammed his fist on the table. “I swear to the gods old and new I heard his bloody bones shatter and his heart burst!”

As he laughed, Rhaenys closed her eyes and breathed deeply. All she knew was that her father was struck down and laid dying in the Trident. That was all she was content with knowing. 

King Robert took a swig from his goblet, pushing it towards a serving girl to refill “They called him The Last Dragon. Well, I slew that monster and spat upon his corpse! Would've pissed on it if I could! Him and his whole line of dragonspawn.”

Rhaenys felt eyes on her as she rose from her seat. Thankfully, the King was too busy with his goblet to notice. Wiping angry tears from her eyes, she left the Great Hall as raucous laughter erupted. 

“Lady Rhaenys.” Rhaenys turned around and saw that Jaime Lannister had followed her out.

“Ser Jaime,” she greeted, hoping her eyes didn’t appear red in the dim firelight. Rhaenys hated Jaime the least, but she wasn’t about to cry in the presence of a Lannister.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” He seemed sincere. 

Rhaenys shrugged. “I suppose it’s the price of my survival. Being the only one left to hear those stories.”

“I highly doubt Rhaegar’s death is a popular tale to be told at Winterfell feasts. Ned Stark isn’t one for malice even though the Targaryens gave him the most heartache.”

“Lord Stark was the father Rhaegar never was.” Rhaenys said. “If you’re the reason i’m alive, then he’s the reason I survived.”

“If more men were like Lord Stark, then the world would be a better place.” Jaime mused. 

“I still have yet to thank _you_.” Rhaenys admitted. Jamie was the reason why she was alive, well, and happy.

“I wouldn’t deserve it.” Jaime said, his smile faltering. “I still let your mother and brother die. The Seven Kingdoms says I broke my oath by murdering their king, as mad as he was. They forget that I also broke the oath to protect your family.” 

He sighed and shook his head. “Elia should have been sent to Dragonstone with Rhaella. It’s what Rhaegar wanted. But Aerys was convinced that the Martells were plotting to betray him; so he made her and her children hostages in their own home.”

“He never like my mother. Or myself. My uncle Oberyn told me.” Rhaenys recalled. She had never felt sorrow for her violent and ghastly grandfather. 

“When Rhaegar presented you to his father, Aerys only sneered. Said you “smelled Dornish” and suggested you be casted into Blackwater Bay.”

Rhaenys flinched. “Exactly how many people wanted me dead?”

“Mostly all grown men who feared a little girl.” Jaime claimed. “Now the little girl has grown into a women. More reason to fear you.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.” Rhaenys said, her eyebrows raised.

“My lady, you’ve lost your family, your house, and your title. You’ve wrong no one but there are people who’ve wronged you. The blood of the dragon runs thick.” 

“My only vengeance was my survival.” Rhaenys said. “I should have bled with the rest my family, yet I live in the north with a new one.” She raised her head boldly. “Perhaps you should tell that to your lord-father. My reckoning is my beating heart, my husband, and, eventually, my children.”

Jaime chuckled. “My brother referred to you as the Dornish she-wolf during our journey, merely because of your marriage to a Stark. Now his words have sense for a spine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hells gonna break loose soon. Who's excited?


	11. another two lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys' encounters with Tywin Lannister's other two children.

Early the following morning, Vayon Poole knocked on the bedchamber door to inform Rhaenys that the queen had summoned her. Rhaenys wanted nothing to due with Her Grace or her damned family, but any discourtesy towards Cersei Lannister would not bode well for anyone. 

“What have you done to the queen at such an hour to incur her wrath?” Robb remarked, pulling Rhaenys to his bare chest. 

“I haven’t the faintest, but i’m glad I did it.” Rhaenys yawned. Robb chucked, tracing circles in the small of her back. After her encounter with Jaime last night, Rhaenys went to her bedchambers and crawled under her covers, not bothering to strip off her dress. Moments later, Robb slipped into the room and the two, in between kisses and gentle words, throughly helped to disrobe one another.

They started to kiss and Rhaenys very much wanted to bed her husband again, but she doubted the queen’s patience. 

\---

Queen Cersei was waiting in the Great Hall, sitting at the raised platform as she was the previous evening. She was dressed finely, in a gown of Lannister red and gold with a furred collar.

“Your Grace.” Rhaenys curtsied. The queen nodded and gestured to the chair opposite her. “I hope you weren’t offended by the king last night.” She said as Rhaenys sat.

“…No, Your Grace.”

“Oh. Is that so?” Queen Cersei asked, her eyebrows raised. “You should know better than to lie to your queen.”

“My apologies, Your Grace.” Rhaenys said hastily.

“Rhaegar was still your father, Rhaenys. I would expect a bit of lament from his remaining child.” She surveyed Rhaenys like a lioness in the grass; waiting and watching. “Do you remember your father?”

“I do.” Rhaenys replied. She wandered through her memories, picking out the remains of Rhaegar. “I remember when he found a black kitten and presented it to me. I remember some of his stories and songs, the ones about Aegon and his sisters… and I remember when he left and never came back.” She suddenly felt sad.

“Such a terrible thing for a child to remember.” The queen said. _I could also remember the man your father sent to kill me._ Rhaenys thought bitterly. For a strange reason, Rhaenys could imagine that Queen Cersei was more like her father Tywin than her two brothers were.

“Losing a baby is a terrible thing as well.” The queen continued. “Was your husband angry?”

“No.” Rhaenys said incredulously. Robb hadn’t been angry at her since they were children and she couldn’t even remember what for; most likely something trivial.

“I lost a child once but he was already born and that made it worst. My first born son.” The queen said. “A small thing, with a cap of soft black hair. Then one day, he was struck by a fever and gone a few days after.”

“Was His Grace angry at you?” Rhaenys asked. Perhaps that was the reason the king was so faithless to his queen. 

“No…but..” The queen paused, looking solemn. “That was the last time he held me so tenderly, when we watched the nursemaid take our son away.” She sighed. “But now I have three children, all beautiful and heathy. The greatest honors that have been bestowed upon me.”

“His Grace must have been pleased.” Rhaenys said.

“As long as Robert had his heirs, then all was well in the world.” The queen gave her a half-smile. “Lady Stark said your womb will surely quicken again.”

“Our maester is hardly ever wrong.”

Queen Cersei chuckled. “I pray you are right. The women of your line were attested to have trouble with their wombs.”

Rhaenys’ brow furrowed. “Pardon me, Your Grace?”

“Your grandmothers, Loreza and Rhaella, both lost children in the womb and the cradle.” The queen said. “And your own mother was weaken by your birth and nearly died from the second one.”

If the queen meant to sound concerned and sympathetic, it wasn’t convincing; if anything, it was unsettling. “They all bore their children regardless.” Rhaenys said, watching the queen carefully. 

Queen Cersei smiled, but once again it didn’t match her eyes.

“They certainly did Rhaenys.”

\---

“Bran, where are you going?” Rhaenys called out, as the boy ran pass her, his nameless direwolf behind him. “I want to climb Winterfell’s walls one last time!” He said breathlessly. 

“Didn’t your mother tell you ‘no more climbing’?”

“She knows I lied!” Bran insisted as he ran off towards the North Gate

Rhaenys shook her head, but smiled. She was going to miss him dearly, after he, Sansa, and Arya traveled south with their father. Lord Stark was honoring the king by assuming the vacant position of Hand of the King. Nearly a month after King Robert’s journey to Winterfell, their time to leave had arrived.

“Jory, please make sure Bran doesn’t scale the Red Keep.” Rhaenys said, as they walked back to the Keep. 

Jory laughed. “I make no promises, my lady.”

“Tell him prospective knights who never listen to their mothers are prevented from being anointed with the seven oils.” Rhaenys suggested. Despite his northern upbringing, Bran wanted to be a knight more than anything else. Perhaps his father would allow him to serve as a page to someone in the Kingsguard.

As she and Jory approached the massive doors of the Great Keep, Tyrion Lannister strode out. 

“Ah, Jory and Lady Rhaenys.” Tyrion greeted. “One of the servants said you were out here, blessing the hunting party with your pretty faces before they left.”

Jory snorted. “Is that why you kept away from the hunt then Imp?”

“I am of more use in a brothel then on a hunt Cassel.” Tyrion replied airily. “Now if you don’t mind, I shall pray for Lady Rhaenys to honor me with a stroll.”

“Pray to the Stranger my lord. He’ll gladly take you for a stroll.” Rhaenys retorted.

“If wit were a flower then you’d be a garden my lady.” Tyrion remarked. “I only hoped that Rhaenys Stark would accompany me on my way to Winterfell’s magnificent library...”

“Shall I set Silverwing on him my lady?” Jory asked lightheartedly.

“Perhaps another day Jory.” Rhaenys said. “I’ll honor you Lord Tyrion.”

Tyrion bowed. “You have my gratitude, my lady.”

\---

The courtyard was teeming with people, all preparing for King Robert’s return to King’s Landing, as well as Lord Stark’s departure from Winterfell. Many of them were northernfolk, bidding their greetings to Rhaenys and ignoring the Lannister. 

“So who is ‘Silverwing’?” Tyrion asked as they walked along, not bothered by the wordless rebukes.

“My gyrfalcon.” Rhaenys answered. 

“Named for Alysanne Targaryen’s dragon I assume?”

“Aye.”

“The Good Queen Alysanne. Grew so bored of Winterfell one day that she mounted her Silverwing and flew north to the Wall.” Tyrion recounted. “As for us mere men, a horse will do justly.”

“Why are you so eager to climb the Wall my lord?” Rhaenys asked. Tyrion planned on leaving for the Wall with a few of his men.

“How many times can a man say he’s been to the edge of the world and back again?” Tyrion remarked. “I regretfully missed my chance on my first venture north and vowed to not repeat it.”

“Well, most men rather live without ever seeing the Wall.”

“Lady Rhaenys, there was once a time when serving in the Night’s Watch was a honor greater than any knighthood.” Tyrion said. 

Rhaenys smiled. “You plan on taking the black, my lord?” 

“Perhaps I ought to...the wildlings would laugh themselves to death if they saw a half-man running after then with a longsword.“ Tyrion said. “Of course, the vow of celibacy is very off putting and I must think of the many women who would mourn my manhood’s absence.” Rhaenys snorted and Tyrion chuckled. 

“I hear your bastard good-brother decided against taking the black," the Imp said. "He seemed eager to do so when we first spoke. He's found a girl, hasn’t he?”

“I doubt _that_ my lord.” Rhaenys said. “Ever since Lord Stark decided go south, Robb convinced Jon to remain here.”

“Perhaps it is for the better.” Tyrion remarked. “The Starks are like their wolves; they fare better together than apart.“ He paused, looking thoughtful.

“Being a bastard half-Stark is far better than being a true-born half-man.” He mused, sounding bitter. “Ned Stark remains loyal to his own, as does the north. I never thought i'd see the northerners treat a Dornish girl with such respect." 

When they reached the Library Tower, Tyrion curtly bowed to Rhaenys. “You have been the most lovely of company, my lady.”

“Kind words, my lord.” 

“You deserve kindness.” Tyrion said sincerely. “Us imps, bastards, and dragonspawn have to find their place in the world and you seemed to have found yours, in spite of Robert's and my lord-father's claims of otherwise." 

Then, somewhere in Winterfell, a wolf started to howl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Jon Snow is here to stay. =)
> 
> Also, I don't actually know the name of the mother of Elia, Oberyn and Doran. I'm 99% it is Loreza though, mostly because it's a name of one of Oberyn's and Ellaria's youngest daughters.


	12. promises were kinder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promises are made and kept in the light of King Robert leaving Winterfell.

Jory said Bran fell. Bran falling was no more different than a bird forgetting how fly; it did not make sense. Yet, Jory found Bran in the shadow of the Broken Tower, unconscious and paler than the Stranger. The nameless direwolf seemed to have gone mad, howling and scratching. 

Bran was taken to his room and attended to by Maester Luwin and Lady Stark. “If Bran lives, he will never walk again,” Luwin said. The height of the fall had crippled the poor boy and Rhaenys feared that would kill Bran more than death could have.

“ _If?!_ ” Lady Stark snapped. “Bran will live, Maester Luwin! Don’t dare speak about my son as if his tomb were waiting!” She bode Rhaenys to take the rest of the children and leave Bran to his healing.

“Come on then.” Rhaenys muttered to Sansa, Arya, and Rickon. They gathered on the sill outside of the Great Keep, waiting for the king’s hunting party to return. Rickon began to cry. “Is Bran going to die?” He wailed. Sansa took her brother in her arms and rocked him gently. “He won’t die Rickon.” She said firmly. Arya looked up at Rhaenys. “Now he’ll never be a knight.” She said miserably. “He’ll never join the Kingsguard like Ser Jaime.”

“No… he won’t.” Rhaenys replied. 

“Bran never fell before.” Arya continued, scrunching her nose as she tried to make sense of what happened. “Father always jested and said Bran was half-squirrel.”

“Well he’s not any part squirrel Arya.” Sansa sighed. “The Broken Tower is broken for a reason. Bran must have found a loose stone.”

“No, he didn’t.” 

Jon approached them, looking despondent. “I was just there, searching for stones on the ground, and I found none.” He sat next to Rhaenys, his brow furrowed.

“Perhaps you hadn’t looked properly.” Sansa said exasperatedly.

Arya looked cross. “If Jon said he looked, then he looked!” 

“Not now you two.” Rhaenys snapped.

In the distance, the sounds of horses and men rang out, including the boisterous laughter of the king. “They’re back!” Arya exclaimed, running towards the North Gate, no doubt to tell her father and brother what happened.

“What did Luwin say?” Jon asked Rhaenys. 

“If Bran lives, he’ll never walk again.”

Jon cursed quietly. “I want to go up and see him… but I doubt Lady Stark would quit his bedside soon.”

“No, she won’t.” Rhaenys confirmed.

—

For a fortnight, the direwoves gathered beneath Bran’s window, their howling cutting through the night. Their song seemed to restore Bran, though he never woke. Apart from the direwolves, Lady Stark also remained close to Bran; she hadn’t left his bedside since he fell.

King Robert also remained in Winterfell, longer than he would have liked, but he did so anyway for the sake of Lord Stark. Yet, his patience still wore out, insisting that a king should be away from his throne for so long. 

On a grey morning, his retinue was finally ready for the month-long journey. Rhaenys was glad to see the king and queen leave at last, but hated that Sansa and Arya were leaving with him. Only the gods knew when she was going to see them again. She sought out her goodbyes in privacy.

First to Sansa, who was overjoyed to finally venture south, into the lands of courts and tourneys and balls. She was chatting away like a bird as she placed the last of her gowns in her chest.

“I will miss you Rhaenys.” Sansa said, embracing her tightly. “Perhaps you’ll visit us in King’s Landing someday.” Rhaenys hoped to never see King’s Landing again as long as she breathed. But how could she refuse sweet Sansa?

“Someday.” Rhaenys echoed and Sansa beamed. 

“Oh it’ll all be so wonderful! And i’ll be with Joffery!”

Rhaenys successfully masked her contempt as Sansa spoke of Joffery. She hated the boy, whose princely and romantic facade only lasted when Sansa was near. He was his mother’s mirror, not limited to her blond hair and emerald eyes, but with her arrogant smirk and lackluster pride. Rhaenys didn’t dare to convey her thoughts about Sansa’s betrothed out loud; the girl may as well had stars for eyes. 

If the world was a just place, then Sansa would have her dreams of a noble and genteel husband, ruling at his side as his good queen. But Rhaenys knew very well that the world was far from a just place.

“As long as you’re happy Sansa.” Rhaenys said, praying the gods had their mercy and she’d be proven wrong about Joffery. “Promise me that and I won’t worry anymore.”

“I promise Rhae.” Sansa smiled, kissing her good-sister’s cheek.

—

Arya’s chambers were a disaster, with dresses and shoes strewn out on the floor and bed. “You best clean this up Arya, because I am not doing it for you.” Rhaenys snorted. Arya looked annoyed. “Mordane wasn’t happy with how I folded my things. Why does it matter? It’s all going to get tumbled before we reach the Trident!”

“Nymeria seems to be good help.” Rhaenys remarked. The direwolf had been lying on one of Arya’s formal gowns and staring at the two. 

Arya stuck her tongue out at the creature before collapsing on her bed. “Sansa’s going to be unbearable!” She whined. “It’ll always be something about Joffery or the queen or Joffery or the princess or–”

“She’s still your sister Arya, It’s your duty to listen and nod and smile at the wrong parts.” Rhaenys said, sitting at the foot of the bed.

Arya groaned. “That’s simple enough for you to say. Oh, I wish you were going to King’s Landing instead of her.”

“That would mean _you’d_ have to marry Joffery.” Rhaenys declared. Arya made a face, tossing a glove into her trunk. “Ugh, never mind then! Sansa can blather about her stupid prince all she likes.” 

“Which means you get to marry a northern lord and give him a hundred little lords and ladies.” Rhaenys teased. Arya threw the other glove at her.

“I won’t marry! Not ever!”

Rhaenys shrugged. “You’re a noble-born girl Arya. Noble-born girls tend to get married.”

“But why?” Arya groused.

“To keep them out of trouble.” Rhaenys replied solemnly.

“Then I shall get into all sorts of trouble!” Arya announced, standing on top her mattress as if she climbed a mountain to survey the kingdom below. 

“I wouldn’t doubt that.”

Arya threw herself at Rhaenys, wrapping her skinny arms around Rhaenys’ neck. “When I return, I will be big enough to hunt with you.”

“We’ll ride out to the Wolfswood as dawn breaks.” Rhaenys promised. 

—

Outside the castle walls was chaos. Men barked out commands, trying to restore order to the mess of carts and wagons and horses. It had also began to snow, a thin blanket of white coating the well-trodden grounds. Robb stood in the midst of it with Grey Wind. But it wasn’t him Rhaenys was seeking out.

She found Lord Stark watching the confusion and excitement unfold. His brow was furrowed, as if he was in deep thought. “Lord Stark.” Rhaenys greeted, approaching him. “Rhaenys,” he said. 

“Are you alright, my lord?” Rhaenys asked.

“I’m not certain.” Lord Stark smiled sadly. “The last time I saw King’s Landing, I was spurring for Dorne with you on my saddle. I looked back to see if we were being shadowed. The entire capital was in fire and ruin.”

“I’m sure the fire had been doused by now, my lord.” 

Lord Stark chuckled, warmth reaching his stone-grey eyes. “Gods be good, nothing will spark a new one.” Yet he looked dubious. “Years pass and the selfsame story continues. I went to King’s Landing to secure Robert’s crown now I return to stand by his throne side. I pray justice will be done onto his decision.”

He watched as Jon approached Robb and shared words, their direwolves nuzzling in greetings. “I’m grateful that Jon chose to decline the black.” Lord Stark admitted. “When I inherited Winterfell, my elder brother was long dead and my youngest was half-way to the Wall. The first years of lordship were difficult and I often wished my brothers remained to help guide me. ”

“Robb convinced Jon his place was here.” Rhaenys said. 

“So i’ve heard. Catelyn may disapprove but it is in Robb’s best interest. Jon is still his brother.”

Lord Stark sighed, a shadow of worry crossing his face. “I promised Jon to speak of his mother upon my return to Winterfell.” He said, almost sadly. Rhaenys was taken aback. Jon’s mother was very nearly a ghost that hung over a few heads. Jon was certain his mother was some southron whore, worthless of his father’s discussion. “Why until then, my lord?” 

“I would have found the right words by then.”

Rhaenys only saw the same sorrowful look about his face once; when he spoke of his sister Lyanna all those years ago. Lord Stark’s heavy grim look seemed too incongruous for a nameless whore’s memory. Perhaps it was merely for the weight of his sin.

Lord Stark shook his head. “Ah damn. I act as if i’ll never look upon the north again. Then he smiled, embracing Rhaenys like she was one of his own. “The King has his Hand and the lord has his wife,” he remarked. “I trust Robb with Winterfell and I trust you with Robb.”

“I won’t betray your trust, my lord.” Rhaenys vowed.

“I know you won’t Rhaenys.”

Rhaenys could vaguely remember the first time she met Lord Stark. She had crawled under a table, as she had crawled under her father’s bed, hoping the monsters with their long claws were too large to reach her. Lord Stark had knelt down and spoke to her kindly, promising better days upon her. Ned Stark was the father Rhaegar should have been and Rhaenys knew she would miss him more than she ever missed her true-father.

—

Winterfell had grown eerily quiet, save for Rickon who kept crying after his father left. Lady Stark was occupied with watching over Bran, unknowingly neglecting her youngest child. Rhaenys and Jon did their best to comfort him, as Robb was now busy with the Lord of Winterfell’s tasks. As Maester Luwin mentioned, the cost of King Robert’s visit needed to be attended to, along with the number of positions that needed to be replaced, as they the men who held them went south with Lord Stark. 

Jon wanted to do more than look after Rickon but he was only a bastard; any show of authority could’ve had him laughed out of Winterfell. His father’s protection had gone south with him. Eventually Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin took pity on Jon, tasking him with various chores. 

Rhaenys did her best to convince her good-mother to leave Bran’s room. Lady Stark scarcely left, taking what little meals she had there and weaving prayer wheels to hang over Bran’s bed. She looked as pale as Bran did, her eyes bloodshot from exhaustion.

“Please my lady, the summer air will restore you.” Rhaenys pleaded. 

“I can’t leave Bran.” Lady Stark snapped. 

“Your other sons need you.” Rhaenys said haggardly. “Rickon cries for you and Robb needs your counsel.” 

“You’re Robb’s wife! Do your duty to him!” What had become of Catelyn Stark? She seemed to have diminished into a wisp of herself, her heart gone to stone. 

“I have done all that I can my lady–”

“Then why haven’t you bore him a child yet?”

Rhaenys flinched away. Her womb had been as empty as a whoremonger’s purse ever since she lost her babe. Before she could try to defend herself, Robb opened the chamber door. 

“Rhaenys.” He looked solemn and tired and Rhaenys knew he had heard the exchange of words at his brother’s sickbed. “Saddle Stormy. We’re riding out to the Wolfswood.”

Glad to leave, Rhaenys nodded and left with haste.

—

Hullen had also gone to King’s Landing, so the stables were occupied by the stableboy Hodor. “Hodor!” He greeted Rhaenys. He was a large man, dull-witted and capable of only saying that one word; but he was gentle and loyal and well-loved by the people of Winterfell.

“Hello Hodor.” Rhaenys replied, reaching for Stormy’s saddle. Hodor went over to her to help and she let him. She knew Lady Stark said her words out of grief but it still stung all the same. Luwin said Rhaenys’ womb will surely quicken again; but he wasn’t lucid on when.

She sighed, leaning on Stormy’s neck while she fed the mare oats from her hand. Rhaenys missed Sansa and Arya. She missed Bran. She missed Lord Stark and Jory and Hullen. They had only been five days gone but it felt like years since she last heard Arya and Sansa bicker. 

“Hodor.” She looked up to see Robb walk into the stable. He greeted Hodor before retrieving his courser, River’s, saddle. He saddled his horse in silence and Rhaenys wondered if he was angry with her. She led Stormy out, pausing to pet Grey Wind who waited outside the stables patiently. 

“Rhae?” Robb called out, as he guided his horse along. Rhaenys spun around and he kissed her full on the mouth. After they broke away with flushed cheeks, Robb helped her onto Stormy.

“Mother prays for your forgiveness,” he said, as they rode out the Hunter’s Gate.

“She has no need to beseech the gods. My forgiveness is hers.” Rhaenys said.

“Still.” Robb sighed. “She had no right.”

“It’s alright Robb.” Rhaenys insisted. “I’ll be sure to let your mother know as well, before the morrow comes.”

Robb smiled. “You’ll have your children in due time. Don’t fret.”

Rhaenys nodded, refusing to consider Queen Cersei’s doubts.

—

While Grey Wind hunted within the Wolfswood, Robb and Rhaenys spurred for the rolling hills. They rested atop a hill, looking down at Winterfell from the distance. It looked so small, as if a child had carefully stacked and placed stones and flowers to form the castle and godswood.

Rhaenys would glance over to Robb ever so often. He seemed glad to finally venture away the confines of stone walls and lordship. Robb may have had Tully coloring, but the north was starting to show in his face, a rimy sternness that Rhaenys knew could never claim his heart. 

A cold wind swept the hills, rustling the grass along the sparse land. Grey clouds were starting to mantle the sky. 

Another reminder than the long summer was nearing its end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~clap if you've got a ticket to the end of the world~


	13. a dagger in the hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, it was the lions. It always had been.

The direwolves were still howling. Rhaenys thought she would have gone half mad from the sound, but she did not; the howl-song breathed life into the castle. The wolves howled and howled, as if they hoped to rouse Bran and lead him away from the unreachable land he was held hostage in. Lady Stark continued to sit at her son’s bedside, praying and waiting for his return. Earlier that day, Jon finally plucked up ample courage to visit Bran, begging for him to stay with them. If Lady Stark had her harsh words for Jon, then it was done with. 

Rhaenys worried about Rickon the most. He cried along with his wolf, often padding behind her or Robb, wailing that everyone had abandoned him. She started putting Rickon to bed herself, with the promises of a story. This pacified Rickon slightly; Rhaenys’ stories were different from those of Old Nan’s, as she spoke of Dornish warriors and their prized sand steeds or the Targaryen and their dragons of old.

“Tell the story about the dancing dragons!” Rickon exclaimed, as Rhaenys drew the covers over him. _He means the Dance of the Dragons_ , Rhaenys thought. It certainly wasn’t the prettiest of tales but Rickon’s pleading blue eyes could not be ignored. She settled next to his pillow and began to speak of the terrible war.

“King Viserys Targaryen had three children by his first queen Aemma Arryn, but only Princess Rhaenyra outlived her siblings. King Viserys was without a son, so he chose to make Rhaenyra his heir and groomed her to be Queen of Westeros. But the king married Alicent Hightower and they had four children together, the eldest being their son Aegon.”

“You had a brother called Aegon too!” Rickon said. “Bran told me!”

“That’s right Rickon.”

“Was he supposed to be king?”

“Yes, he was.”

“But the Lannisters didn’t want him to be king?”

“No, they did not.”

Rhaenys waited for more questions but received none. 

“One night, King Viserys died in his sleep. Supporters of Rhaenyra’s half-brother Aegon, including Queen Alicent, held a council. Westeros had never been ruled by a queen and they were troubled by her succession to the Iron Throne. Only the master of coin, Lord Beesbury, insisted that Rhaenyra be crowned and when he attempted to leave the council, Ser Criston, a knight in King Viserys’ Kingsguard, killed him. After his death, Queen Alicent’s council swore loyalty to their new king Aegon and had Rhaenyra’s supporters thrown into the dungeons. After Aegon’s coronation, Rhaenyra was crowned queen on Dragonstone and she declared her half-brother a traitor.”

Rickon was enthralled as Rhaenys continued the tale of a war where everything was lost and nothing was gained. In the end, Rhaenyra was captured and fed to Aegon’s dragon while her son watched. But Aegon died months later from war wounds. With the brother and sister dead, the war withered and Rhaenyra’s son Aegon, Third of his Name, ascended to the throne. Many of the Targaryen dragons were killed during the war and went extinct later during King Aegon’s reign. 

Rhaenys pressed a kiss to Rickon’s forehead; the child had fallen asleep and she wished him pleasant dreams. No doubt he would start crying again as soon as he woke up. 

Outside, the direwolves were still howling; they were being joined by the castle dogs as well. Rhaenys thought his strange, as the dogs usually kept quiet when the wolves bayed. Soon, horses started to whine, ravens started to scream, and men shouted “fire!”

 _Fire!_ Rhaenys thought. She threw open Rickon’s window and saw the plume of heavy smoke and flame that took hold of the Library Tower. She prayed to the Seven that Septon Chayle hadn’t fallen asleep among the books again. The direwolves ceased their song and all Rhaenys heard was the curses and commands of men. She closed the shutters, not wanting to disturb Rickon. 

Somewhere in the corridors, the sound of quick and heavy footsteps struck against the stone floors. _What in the Seven Hells was that?_ Rhaenys thought. More than certain that Rickon was safe from the fire, she quit his chambers to seek out the source of the noise. 

The corridors were all empty, as all had gone out to smother the raging flames. When she drew closer to Bran’s room, Rhaenys could hear the sound of hysterical laughter, high and womanly. Her breath stuck in her throat, Rhaenys dashed to the room, the door already wide open.

There was Lady Stark, knelt on the floor, trembling and bloodied, and laughing. Beside her was the body of a man whose throat had been ripped opened. Then there was the direwolf, laying next to Bran with it’s jaw still dripping with blood. Rhaenys approached her good-mother carefully and knelt next to her; Lady Stark’s scalp was raw, blood dripping dark down her auburn hair. Deep cuts ran along her fingers. She shook like a leaf in a storm, laughing and laughing, her eyes watching the floor.

Rhaenys nervously and gently shook Lady Stark’s shoulder, as if to rouse her. While she didn’t stop laughing, she touched Rhaenys’ cheek softly with her bleeding fingers before gesturing to the direwolf. Rhaenys was hopelessly lost, not daring to implore Lady Stark for meaning, as the woman’s answer would have surely been more laughter. Such was the way that Robb, Jon, Ser Rodrik, Luwin, and most of Winterfell’s guard found them.

—

Rhaenys assumed Lady Stark’s watchful eye of Bran, as her good-motther was guided to her chamber by Luwin. Jon and Ser Rodrik helped to carry the corpse away. Robb ordered his brother’s and mother’s door to be watched by guards after Jon found a bloodied dagger in the corner of the room; that would explain the deep cuts along Lady Stark’s fingers. Suddenly pale, Robb sat the foot of Bran’s bed, close to Rhaenys. 

“Why would someone try to murder my mother?” Robb asked quietly. His brow furrowed and he reached to rub away the blood that Lady Stark left on Rhaenys’ cheek. 

“Perhaps to draw your lord-father back to Winterfell?” Rhaenys suggested tiredly. 

“What would a killer gain from such?”

Rhaenys’ head hurt and she couldn’t fathom anything else. 

“Unless…” Robb turned to look at Bran, now faithfully guarded by his direwolf. “Gods no…why would anyone want to kill a sleeping boy?” 

—

Lady Stark had been asleep for four days. During those days, Robb was relentless in his search for answers. Theon decided from the reek of the corpse that the killer had been hiding out in the stables. Ser Rodrik said the dagger Jon found was one of Valyrian steel blade and dragonbone hilt, a weapon worthless of a footpad’s possession. While they all sat in the Great Hall for discussion, Rhaenys suggested that the footpad might have been a hired mercenary. Theon laughed.

“A craven rich enough to gift away dragonbone hilted draggers could afford a better sellsword.”

“We found ninety silver stags hidden in the stable, Greyjoy.” Robb reminded him. “A mercenary is as good a guess as any.”

Ser Rodrik stated Theon’s doubt in a much more heedful manner. ”A suspected mercenary cannot be taken delicately, my lady.”

“I should hope not.” Rhaenys replied.

“I thought perhaps the man sought to kill Bran.” Robb said.

“Bran is a child!” Hallis Mollen, the new captain of the guard, exclaimed.

“Children have been killed for far less than ninety silver stags.” Rhaenys said coldly.

“But for a reason! Always for a reason.” Mollen said.

“Be it my mother or Bran, gods know there is a reason.” Robb said. “I pray we soon learn of it.” 

—

Lady Stark woke, finally pulling away from the tendrils of milk of the poppy. As Robb and Rhaenys broke their fast, a servant brought word that Lady Stark requested their presence in the godswood. Lady Stark was never at home with the old gods, not as Rhaenys was. For her to seek council in the godswood meant secrecy was precedence.

Robb and Rhaenys were joined by Theon, Ser Rodrik, and (most curiously) Jon Snow in front of the heart tree where Lady Stark waited with Maester Luwin. Sleep did her justice, as she looked once again appeared clear-eyed and graceful. 

“Ser Rodrik and Hallis Mollen told me what you’ve all gathered.” She said. “A nameless man who evaded the best of the guard by hiding in the stables, along with his coin.”

“You think the man was sent to kill you, my lady?” Theon asked. 

Lady Stark shook her bed. “Not I. Bran.”

Robb and Rhaenys exchanged looks as Ser Rodrik looked dismayed. “Bran is just a boy! A child!”

“He was there for Bran.” Lady Stark said firmly. “He set the library afire, thinking the guard and myself would have left Bran to tend to it. Had I not been taken over by grief, his plan would have truly succeeded.”

“Bran is helpless child. More so, he has been sleeping for nearly a fortnight! Why would anyone want to kill him?” Ser Rodrik asked. 

Lady Stark turned to Robb. “What do you think Robb? Why murder a sleeping child?”

Had Robb not asked that very question four nights ago? …Bran knew something…saw or heard something he wasn’t supposed to. A dead child cannot speak.” Robb answered grimily. 

Lady Stark nodded. “Now…what I am about to tell you call cannot leave this godswood. I want your oaths on that! I pray to the gods old and new that I am mistaken…but if wrong words reach wrong ears, then such could cost Ned and the girls their lives.” 

“You have my oath, Mother.” Robb said.

“As mine, my lady.” Rhaenys echoed.

“I do swear.” Ser Rodrik grunted, as did Luwin.

“I swear my oath.” Theon said.

Jon nodded his agreement. If the lives of Lord Stark, Sansa, and Arya were in terrible danger, then Lady Stark’s detestation of Jon was only a hindrance in the effort to spare her family of the worst.

Lady Stark dipped her head, satisfied. “My sister Lysa believes that her husband, and the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn was murdered by the Lannisters.” The godswood became eerily silent, save for the beat of birds’ wings and the rustle caused by the light wind “I also believe that Bran did not fall from the tower. He was thrown.”More silence, more disbelief, more attempts to make sense of words.

“By whom, my lady?” Rhaenys asked, daring to break the stillness. Lady Stark looked at her. 

“Rhaenys, were you aware that Jaime Lannister did not join the king’s hunt that morning?”

“My lady, that is monstrous, even treacherous thinking!” Ser Rodrik exclaimed. “The queen’s brother! Jaime might have slain his own king, but to throw a child from a tower…”

“He risked his own skin and blood to spare Rhaenys from his father’s wrath.” Theon pointed out. “She was even younger than Bran was.”

“Then what Jaime was trying to keep Bran from must have really upset his honor.” Rhaenys said darkly. All her life, she bethought Ser Jaime Lannister as the only true lion in his house of mangy and bane beasts; but he was just as blighted as the lot of them. 

“The Lannisters have always placed welfare over morals.” Lady Stark said.

Robb’s face had grown dark with anger. “If such is true, then i’ll kill the Kingslayer myself.”

Jon was silent, as silent as snowfall He dared not to speak a word to Lady Stark, even if she called for his presence. But he was listening and watching, always watching, like a crow in a high tower. He was no true Stark, but gods knew he would die for a Stark. Perhaps this was why Lady Stark brought herself to finally tolerate Jon’s presence.

“All we have is speculation.” Maester Luwin said, tugging on his chain collar. “To accuse Queen Cersei’s brother of such a crime without proof would result rather poorly on our behalf.”

“The dagger then.” Ser Rodrik sighed, giving in to the speak of what was, more or less, treason. “The killer is dead and buried along with his word, but that dagger is a thousand words of proof.”

“You’ll only find truth in King’s Landing.” Rhaenys said dully. A dagger so finely made had to have been forged and sold in King’s Landing. For truth to be found in a cursed place like King’s Landing could have been likened to a jest.

“You are right Rhaenys.” Lady Stark agreed.

“I’ll go.” Robb said. His mother shook her head. 

“No Robb. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I will go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the number of times i draped a blanket over my shoulders and said "there must always be a stark in winterfell".


	14. justice for the broken and the weary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys wondered if Bran would ever receive his justice. After all, "Lannister" and "justice" never seemed to go together.

Rhaenys had gone to bed alone and had woken alone. Such was no stranger to her; Lady Stark was a month gone and Robb was now Lord of Winterfell, more or less. Most of his time was taken by Winterfell and its people. Rhaenys could not fault him; him and his lordship were already likened to Ned Stark's.

Rising from bed, she walked over to the window to throw the drapes aside. As Rhaenys gazed out into the rolling hills of the north, she realized that day was Bran’s eleventh name day. Bran was still asleep and still alive. Maester Luwin confided to Rhaenys that he was surprised that the boy had survived so long without food and water. Bran must have been nourished by the will of the gods. 

Rhaenys dressed quickly and rushed to Bran’s room. His direwolf roused at the sound of her clambering and settled once realized it was only Rhaenys. She opened the drapes and window to let the sun and northern air bathe the room, specks of dust drifting in the sunbeams. Rhaenys sat on the bedside, kissing Bran lightly on his forehead and cursing the Lannisters; they already took one brother away from her. Gods damn them if they did attempt to steal another from her. 

—

With no desire to break her fast, Rhaenys ventured out to the covered bridge. A servant told her that Robb had gone to survey recruits meant for replenishing Winterfell’s guard. The best had gone south with Lord Stark, so their caliber was yet to be tested. Rhaenys wanted to see these men for herself. On the covered bridge that overlooked the training yard, she found Jon seated on the sill with Ghost.

“We had the same idea, it seems.” Jon said, as Rhaenys settled next to him. Ghost sniffed her as she petted him. She spotted Robb with the new master-at-arms, Kayden Dustin. Ser Rodrik had accompanied Lady Stark to King’s Landing. 

“Shouldn’t you be down there, intimidating them with your swordplay?” Rhaenys asked. Jon snorted. “I think not. Unless you want me to shame your husband with my bastardly presence.”

“You haven’t shamed anyone.” Rhaenys said. “And Robb wanted you to remain in Winterfell.”

Jon said nothing, only watching as Kayden Dustin barked out orders. 

“Have you seen Bran?” Rhaenys asked, changing the course of discussion. 

“I have.” He answered. “He hasn’t changed. I’ll take that as a good sign...he hasn’t gotten worse.” He sighed. “If Jaime Lannister truly tried to murder Bran, then not even the gods could help him.”

“Would would happen to him?”

“If all was just, then Lord Stark would rally his bannermen and demand justice for his son.” Jon said. “But Jaime was born beloved as Queen Cersei’s brother and Tywin Lannister’s eldest son. Any threats made to him would be interpreted as a call for war.”

“A war _they_ would have started.” Rhaenys argued.

“Perhaps.” Jon said gravely. “The Lannisters should have died a thousand times for their crimes.”

“Yet here they remain, Reaping the benefits of their blood-soaked deeds.” 

Were the Lannisters not the richest family in Westeros? Was a Lannister woman not queen, her son poised to become king? Had King Robert not defend and reward Tywin and Jaime for their treachery?

“So no justice for Bran.” She muttered. _As there has been none for Elia and Aegon_.

“The north remembers, Rhaenys.” Jon reassured her. “Father will see to Bran’s justice.” 

“Lord Stark is the King’s Hand.” Rhaenys pointed out. “The same king who shares his company with lions.” 

His brow furrowed. “Even Robert would find the attempted murder of a child despicable.”

Rhaenys looked at him in disbelief. Had Jon forgotten who he was speaking of? “Aegon was a child once and Robert forged his crown with his blood and bones!”

Jon swore. “Rhaenys. I’m sorry..”

“You want justice Jon? You can scour the Seven Kingdoms and you will find none!” Her uncles had learned that to their sorrow. Rhaenys rose from the sill and Jon did the same. 

“We are not going to idle in our castles while we are wronged.” He claimed.

“ _You_ seem so sure.”

“The Lannisters will answer to their atrocities.” Jon insisted. “I don’t care if they live in a castle of gold or wear a gold cloak or a gold crown. They _will_ answer to us.”

The only houses that dared to cross the Lannisters were the Houses Tarbeck and Reyne. The two had rebelled against the Lannisters after a period of conflict. House Tarbeck was the first to fall, their lord beheaded and their stronghold collapsed . After losing their battle to Tywin Lannister, House Reyne’s stronghold Castamere had been put to the torch and every man, woman, and child of House Reyne were murdered, their bodies hung high for all to see. 

There was a reason why nearly lord in Westeros treated the Lannisters with reverence and respect worthy of a king. 

“Oh Jon Snow.” Rhaenys sighed. “You know nothing.”

—

_“The dragon has three heads.” Rhaegar reminded her. “You were the first.” Rhaenys laughed in her father’s face. “Now I am the last.” Rhaegar knelt down in the snow. “Sweet summer child, you were only ever the first.” He clawed at the snow-covered ground with an ungloved hand._

_“You said so yourself; the dragons are dead.” Rhaenys remarked. “Your son is dead. Your brother and sister beg across the Narrow Sea. Your house is in ruin.”_

_“My house.” Rhaegar repeated, still digging in the snow, his tapered fingers turning blue with cold. “Your wolf can bed you all he wants, but you are the blood of the dragon, Rhaenys. This ruined house is ours.”_

_“I’ve paid your debts!” Rhaenys hissed. “I want nothing more to do with you!”_

_“Foolish girl.” Rhaegar sighed. His entire hand was ice, his nails blackened. “The winds are changing. White ravens shall fly once more.” He held out his ruined hand. “Alas, I was so certain it would be here…”_

_“What would be here?”_

_“Our salvation and your retribution…” he replied. “Sonar Mazis.” Winter is coming…_

Rhaenys awoke, the room very dark. She hadn’t dreamed so vividly since the morning of her wedding. To her solace, Robb was asleep next to her. Rhaenys nestled into his side, praying Rhaegar would leave her to her peace.

But had he ever?  
_—_

___No more than a month after Bran’s nameday, a serving woman ran through the halls, shouting “he is awake!”._ _ _

___Robb and Rhaenys rushed to his bedside and saw that Bran had propped himself up on his elbow, the direwolf licking his face._ _ _

___“His name is Summer.” Bran said calmly._ _ _

___—_ _ _

___Bran was nothing less than harrow. Rhaenys expected his; after all, the boy was crippled and had to be carried everywhere he went. He may have survived the fall but the sweet adventurous boy he once was died anyway. Bran had no recollection of what happened on the Broken Tower. His only memory was waking up. When he asked where his mother had gone, Robb decided to tell Bran the truth. That he was thrown from the tower by Jaime Lannister._ _ _

___“Bran was robbed of his childhood.” Robb argued as Luwin chastised him for his decision. “He has a right to know our suspicions.”_ _ _

___“Speculation!” Luwin sighed. “The more he knows, the more dangerous it is.”_ _ _

___“More danger than he is in now?” Robb asked. “The fire has been already lit, Maester Luwin. My brother is just as involved in this as we are.”_ _ _

___Hearing that Ser Jaime Lannister, the bold knight of the Kingsguard, attempted to kill him grieved Bran even more._ _ _

___—_ _ _

___Bran had been five days awake. He ate little and said less. Rhaenys attempted to coax him outside to enjoy the last of the summer, but Bran only shook his head._ _ _

___“The wind is cool but the sun is warm.” Rhaenys said, throwing the window open. “The fresh air will restore you.”_ _ _

___“I don’t want fresh air.” Bran said stubbornly. “I want to run and walk and ride again.” Rhaenys noticed him wiping the tears that trickled down his face. She walked over and sat on his bed. “If I could give you the impossible, then it would have been done.” Rhaenys said gently._ _ _

___“The three-eyed crow in my dream said I would fly.” Bran said sullenly._ _ _

___“That was only a dream, Bran. You’ve been asleep for so long.”_ _ _

___“Rhaenys, this dream was different.” Bran insisted. “I felt wind against my face and the sun in my eyes. I saw the fear of the darkness and the shadow and the ice. I felt the crow peak at my eyes until I was blind. What kind of dream would act so real?”_ _ _

___Rhaenys said nothing, for some of her dreams were not so different._ _ _

___“You know!” Bran exclaimed. “You know the kind of dreams i’m speaking of!”_ _ _

___“We dream and then we wake.” Rhaenys said firmly. “And nothing more.”_ _ _

___“But…”_ _ _

___“Dreaming will tempt you away from the living.” Rhaenys said. “Please Bran. No crow can promise you anything.”_ _ _

___Bran sunk back into his pillow. “I’m tired. I want to sleep.” Rhaenys sighed, her eyes sad. “Alright.”_ _ _

___—_ _ _

___A fortnight later, Tyrion Lannister was in Winterfell once more; this time with some men of the Night’s Watch. They were received in the Great Hall, with Robb in his father’s high seat. Rhaenys sat next to him, with Luwin on Robb’s other side. Theon stood by as Jon went to fetch Bran. Robb and Rhaenys made little effort to mask their contempt for the Lannister._ _ _

___“Winterfell will always welcome the men of the Night’s Watch.” Robb said, nodding respectfully to the four men clad in black._ _ _

___“But not a man of Casterly Rock, eh?” Tyrion asked. “My last welcome here was a bit, dare I say, warmer.”_ _ _

___“Why have you come here?” Robb asked._ _ _

___“I’ve come to pay a visit to your brother and his wondrous recovery.” Tyrion said. “A raven was sent to your uncle Benjen, about his nephew’s awakening. I had to see this for myself.”_ _ _

___“Bran is awake and well. That is all you need to know.” Rhaenys said._ _ _

___“As I said, my lady, I had to see for myself.”_ _ _

___Hodor entered the room, Bran in his arms and Jon trailing behind him._ _ _

___“So it is true.” Tyrion murmured. “You Starks are hard to kill.”_ _ _

___Hodor stopped in front of the Imp, towering over him like a mountain. “Hello Bran.” Tyrion said warmly. Bran nodded politely._ _ _

___“I don’t supposed you remember how you fell?”_ _ _

___“He remembers nothing.” Luwin said hastily. At the same time, Bran said “I never fall.”_ _ _

___Tyrion looked up at Hodor and motioned downwards. “Do you mind? I rather not break my neck.” Hodor knelt down. “Thank you. Now, Bran, since you are now crippled–”_ _ _

___“I am _not_ a cripple.” Bran said. _ _ _

___“Then I am not a dwarf!” Tyrion exclaimed. “Then your half-brother over there is not a bastard and your good-sister not dragonspawn.”_ _ _

___“Why are you here?” Robb asked once more, growing cross. Tyrion ignored him. “Bran, do you like riding?”_ _ _

___“Yes.” Bran answered. “More than anything.” Tyrion pulled a scroll from his cloak and gave it to him. “Give this to your saddler. He’ll know what to do with it.” Bran opened the scroll and Tyrion spoke to Robb. “He’ll need a new horse, broken and trained to respond to touch, sound, and pull of rein only.”_ _ _

___“I’ll be able to ride again?” Bran asked, his face flushed with excitement._ _ _

___“With this saddle, you should.” Tyrion promised. “I designed it after that of my own and it has yet to fail me.”_ _ _

___But Robb was still cynical. “Why would you help him?”_ _ _

___“Lord Robb.” Tyrion said. “I have a weakness for cripples, bastards, and broken things. I daresay you have the same.”_ _ _

___—_ _ _

___That same afternoon, Rhaenys accompanied Robb and Bran to the saddler. Bran was much too excited at the prospect of riding again to delay his new saddle. As Robb carried him, Bran gripped at the scroll as if worried someone would snatch it away._ _ _

___The saddler, Burinn, was impressed by the design and reassured Robb that Tyrion was not deceiving them in anyway. “A clever deign, m’lord. So long as you have the proper horse.”_ _ _

___Upon Bran’s insistence, they went to see Joseth, the new master-of-horse and Robb explained Tyrion’s specifications._ _ _

___Your lady-wife’s mare has a filly.” Joseth mused. Stormy’s foal was a chestnut-coated thing and young enough to be trained for Bran. Bran loved the horse right away and decided to call her Dancer._ _ _

___Bran was taken to his room to rest before he feasted with the men of the Night’s Watch. Robb begrudgingly extended his welcome to Tyrion, for his kindness to Bran. The Lannister declined, denouncing Robb’s curtsy as false. The Imp opted to spend the night in the winter-town’s brothel before he left for King’s Landing on the morrow._ _ _

___Rhaenys could not believe it took a Lannister to make Bran smile again. She repeated this to Robb._ _ _

___"The world is a cruel and strange place," he replied grimly._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You know nothing Jon Snow". 
> 
> Well someone had to say it.
> 
> After searching on google, i came across a "high valyrian dictionary" and it claims that "Sonar Mazis" was "winter is coming" in valyrian. I don't know how true this is, but for lack of further information, i'm going along with it. If you happen to know otherwise, please let me know. It's important for the series.


	15. dark wings and darker words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravens carry their grim words to Winterfell and the world grows darker with every letter.

A fortnight after Tyrion Lannister left Winterfell, a raven arrived from the Wall. Written by the Night's Watch Lord Commander, it spoke of Benjen Stark; he had vanished, after leading six other rangers to search for a missing black brother.

Robb crumpled the letter in his fist, answering to Hal Mollen’s doubts of Benjen’s survival; “my uncle is not dead!” His voice echoed throughout the Great Hall.

“I challenge you to find a men who knows the lands beyond the Wall better than Uncle Benjen.” Jon averred. “He’ll find his way back.”

\---

A month after word of Benjen’s disappearance, two more raven came within days of each other. One was a message from Lady Stark; she had taken Tyrion Lannister as her prisoner for the suspicion of murdering Bran. The dagger of dragonbone and valyrian steel had belonged to Tyrion.

The second raven came from Alyn, from King’s Landing. Jaime Lannister and twenty Lannister men had confronted and ambushed Lord Stark, after learning that Lady Stark held Tyrion captive. Jaime himself had killed Heward, Wyl, and Jory Cassel. Lord Stark’s leg had shattered and had not woken since.

Rhaenys heart ached for the slain northernmen, especially for Jory. He always treated her kindly, leading her horse as she learned to ride, instructing her how to hold a bow properly (”gods, if a girl learns to nock, she may as well do it right.”), clumsily dancing with her on her wedding day… 

Robb held her close as she cried and promised that they will not allow this to be forgotten.

\---

The morning after the news of Jory’s death, Bran was readying to ride outside the castle walls for the first time. He hadn’t ventured beyond Winterfell since he woke up and excited to finally do so. Along with Robb, Rhaenys, Theon, Jon, and the direwolves Grey Wind, Summer, and Ghost. Bran rode out the Hunter’s Gate. Rhaenys smiled as Bran’s cheeks were flushed with exhilaration as he spurred Dancer along. Her heart was still dull but the sight of Bran restored her greatly. Yet, it was very strange to think Bran's happiness was all because of Tyrion.

Robb smiled as well, but his was sad. He rode behind with Theon and Jon, quietly discussing the Lannisters’ treachery. By the time they reached the Wolfswood, Rhaenys had heard the word “war” too many times for her likening. She spurred faster to match Bran’s speed. Robb called for his brother to slow down, but the boy was much too excited, whooping as he went along. The direwolves eventually left them to hunt within the woods.

Bran galloped into the forest and Rhaenys spurred behind him. The men’s voices soon faded into the untroubled sounds of the forests. Bran finally slowed Dancer to a walk. “Are you tired Bran?” Rhaenys asked, riding aside him. 

Bran shook his head. “I was just thinking…why did they kill Jory?”

"...I don’t know Bran.” Rhaenys answered. “I doubt Jaime Lannister needed a reason to kill someone.”

They came across a stream and Bran looked very sad. “Jory used to bring us to fish here. Me, Robb, and Jon.”

“Jory would be proud to know you’re riding once more.” Rhaenys said. “Perhaps you could learn to bowhunt from horseback next.”

Bran brightened. “You think so?”

“Remember the Dothraki?" Rhaenys asked. "Their boys learn when they're four year old. I don’t see why you can't.”

As Bran's sweet smile returned to his face, Stormy began to whine, her ears pricked up. Suddenly, an arrow shot pass the mare’s ears, causing her to rear up. Stupefied, Rhaenys fell out her saddle and landed on her flank as Stormy galloped away. “Rhaenys!” Bran yelled. 

Rhaenys propped herself up on her elbow and was certain she had broken a rib or two. Looking up, she saw that they were being surrounded by six very ragged people. She hadn’t heard their approach; the rush of the stream shrouded their footsteps well. A large man held Stormy by her reins, his face gleeful from his prize.

“Bran, run!” Rhaenys urged, as she tried to rise from the ground; she would have tried to kick Dancer to a gallop, but a gaunt man with sunken eyes pushed her back down, crouching down to hold a knife to her neck. 

A short and flat-faced woman snickered, petting Stormy along her neck as she grasped the reins. “Why run boy?” Stormy began to whinny for her foal. “Get off the horse little lordling.”

“I can’t.” Bran said. 

“Liar!”

“Tell the boy to get down or i’ll cut this pretty one’s throat.” The gaunt man rasped coldly. 

“I can’t!” Bran repeated. “There’s straps!”

"Leave him alone!" Rhaenys spat, the cold of the knife's blade pressed to her neck.

The flat-faced woman pulled away Bran’s cloak and saw he was telling the truth.

“You some kind of cripple?” A man missing his front teeth wheezed.

“I’m Brandon Stark of Winterfell and if you don’t let me and Rhaenys go, i’ll have you all killed!”

The tall woman laughed. “Stiv, only a Stark would threaten and not beg. Mance Rayder would pay us well for Benjen Stark’s blood.”

“Piss on Mance Rayder!” Stiv said. “The White Walkers will take him soon enough!"

 _They’re wildlings._ Rhaenys realized.

The gaunt man tugged Rhaenys’ hair. “You a Stark as well?”

“Don’t be stupid Wallen, she looks nothin’ like a Stark!” The large man guffawed. “Boy called her ‘Rhaenys'. I think she’s Targaryen. The lot of them always had funny names.”

Rhaenys noticed the large man’s rags were crow-black and wondered what a wildling from beyond the Wall would know about Targaryens. “You’re a deserter from the Night’s Watch,” she realized.

“What of it?” The large man spat. Old Nan had once said that Night’s Watch deserters were far more dangerous than wildlings, as the deserter's life was forfeit.

“Oathbreaker,” Rhaenys hissed. “Let Bran go, and then perhaps you’ll do kindly to fall upon your sword!” 

The deserter laughed. “Never mind it Wallen, this one may as well be a Stark. Gods knows what those Starks take into their beds.”

The tall women sucked her teeth impatiently. “You southernfolk and your names.”

Then came the sound of a sword being unsheathed. “Let them go and i’ll let you live,” Robb said. His voice was low but did nothing to hide his rage.

The short woman laughed. “Just who might you be?”

“I am Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell, and that is my wife and brother you hold captive.”

“Wife!” The deserter guffawed. “What did I say? Those Starks would fuck anything.” 

The wilding called Stiv raised his ax and hurled himself at Robb. Robb barely evaded the blade and lashed out with his sword. He caught the man by his throat, tearing a bloody gash. Grey Wind flew out from bushes, snarling at Wallen. He screamed, his grip loosening, and Rhaenys wrestled from his hold just before Grey Wind leaped on him and started to rip his throat out.

“Hali, kill the wolves!” The deserter call out, as he started to cut Bran’s saddle. The short woman looked to her companion, her face bloodless with fear. Behind her, Jon emerged, sword in hand, and flanked by Ghost and Summer. Hali shrieked as the two direwolves leapt at her. The taller wilding woman ran towards Robb, swinging her staff and striking him. Undaunted, Robb seized her by her hair and while Jon thrusted his sword into another crow-black clad man that had charged at him.

Rhaenys saw the glint of Wallen’s knife in the grass and reached for it. Holding it tightly, she hurled it at the deserter, who had taken Bran from the saddle. The blade embedded in his thigh and he fell to the ground, swearing and dropping Bran.

Rhaenys clambered to her feet, ripping the hem of her dress as she did so, and rushed to Bran; the man had left gashes on his thigh where he cut away at the leather straps. “It doesn’t hurt.” Bran insisted as Rhaenys started to scoop him up, ignoring the torment in her chest. They hadn’t notice the deserter pull the knife from his thigh and lunge at them. He grabbed Rhaenys by the neck of her cloak and kept her low to the ground, holding the dagger to her throat. She released Bran but it didn’t matter; he couldn’t run away.

“DROP YOUR BLADE OR SHE DIES!” The deserter roared. Robb and Jon ceased as once, their fury dimming. The deserter’s icy-blue eyes were wide with folly. “Call off your dogs!” He demanded, watching as the direwolves ripped at his companions' bodies.

Helpless, Robb didn’t loosen his grip on either the sword or the wilding woman. “Don’t!” Rhaenys cried out. The deserter was twice Robb’s and Jon’s size and a tenfold precarious; he could have killed them both so easily even without a sword.

Rhaenys felt the cold steel press against her throat and the weight of his grasp around her neck. “Do it!” The deserter commanded.

Robb and Jon slowly laid their swords onto the ground, as the former called the direwolves back. “Let her go, now,” Robb said. Rhaenys had never seen him so frightened.

The deserter started to smile but it faded as a broad steel-tipped arrowhead burst through his chest. His grip on Rhaenys loosened and she fell to the side. The deserter dropped onto his knees before she pushed him to the dirt. She turned around to see Theon with his bow in hand. Bran sighed with relief as Rhaenys pulled him close to her.

But Robb still looked stunned as he released the wilding woman. She couldn’t run far without a direwolf on her trail. Theon nocked another arrow and held his aim at her as Robb walked over to Rhaenys and Bran. He collapsed beside them. “Are you both alright?” He asked. “Yes.” Bran said as Rhaenys nodded. When Robb reached to cup her cheek, Rhaenys felt his fingers tremble. 

“In the Iron Islands, they say you aren’t a man until you’ve slain your first enemy.” Theon called out to Robb. He even nodded respectfully to Jon. “Well done.”

“Have you gone mad?!” Jon asked incredulously, as he picked up his blood stained sword. “You took the shot from _behind_! What if you had missed?”

Theon’s proud smile fell. “What are you on about Snow?”

“He’s right, Greyjoy.” Robb said, his expression cold. “You wouldn't know if the man wore armor under his cloak! Or what if his hand had slipped? He could have cut Rhaenys’ throat! Or you could have hit her!” Rhaenys reached to gently grasp his wrist, to calm him.

“He would have killed them both anyway!” Theon argued, as Jon strode over to his brothers. “I saved your family’s lives Robb and you scold me like I were a child?”

“You hadn’t the right to such a risk.” Robb said.

“There was only one thing to do, Stark, and I did what _you_ couldn’t!”

“That’s enough, Greyjoy.” Jon said harshly, scooping up Bran. “We’re taking Rhaenys and Bran back to Winterfell.”

“What about her?” Bran asked.

The wilding woman stayed on her knees, her head bowed. “Mercy m’lords! Keep me alive and I can serve you well enough!”

“You kept your company with oathbreakers.” Robb said, turning his head to the fallen deserter. “What use would you be?”

“I’m just a woman of the freefolk! No oaths to break! Please m’lord, m’lady!”

“Set the direwolves upon her Robb!” Theon suggested and the wilding shuddered violently. 

“She might know some things.” Rhaenys rasped. “Why would two Night’s Watch deserters dare to venture south of the Wall? With wildlings?”

Robb considered this. “We’ll keep her alive.”

The wilding threw herself to the ground. “Thank you m’lady, m’lord!

“What are you called?” Rhaenys asked, as Robb lifted her gently. 

“Osha, m’lady.”

\---

Upon their return to Winterfell, Robb sent Osha to the cook and some of the guard to survey the Wolfswood for more wildlings. Osha swore they had been the only ones but what fool could trust a wilding? Of the six, two were Night’s Watch deserters and Robb sent their corpses back to the Wall. The rest were left unburied where they had fallen, for the crows to pick at.

In Rhaeny’s chambers, Septa Darsha examined the dark red and blue bloom on Rhaenys’ flank. Rhaenys somehow did not break a single rib but it still hurt all the same. Her steaming bath did nothing to ease the pain. “Merely bruised, my lady,” Darsha declared as she applied a poultice. 

“How is Bran?” Rhaenys asked, wincing.

“Distressed, but Maester Luwin is tending to him.”

“And the horses?”

“Both very startled. Stormy won’t allow Joseth or any man near Dancer.”

Darsha wrapped a cloth around the blossoming bruise. “All done.”

Rhaenys nodded and the septa helped her dress. “Where’s Robb?” Rhaenys asked. He had carried her to their room and she hadn't seen him since.

“The godswood, my lady.” Darsha answered. “But I must insist that you rest!”

“I can rest later.” Rhaenys said, already out the chamber door.

\---

As Darsha promised, Robb was in the godswood, sitting before the pond. His sword was in his lap, the blood cleaned off. As Rhaenys approached, he sheathed the blade and set it beside him. “You should be resting.” Robb said, his voice tired.

“I’ll rest easy when you do.” Rhaenys replied, sitting next to him. Robb pulled her close, kissing her brow. "I could have lost you today…"

They sat in silence for a while, heeding the stillness of the wood. Behind them, the face of the heart tree watched on.

“I intend to call the banners.” Robb finally said. Rhaenys stared into the pool of rippling water. Two men had held their blade to her throat, but that fear was paled in comparison to what she feared most.

“Mother wrote that Jaime Lannister gathers his army and means to attack the Riverlands,” he continued. “If that is what he does, then we will retaliate.”

“War, then.” Rhaenys said quietly. How often did she dream about her uncle Doran calling for his bannermen, matching for Casterly Rock to avenge her mother and brother? Gods, what a stupid child she had been. War was not a game and her family were not pawns.

“The Lannisters have outlived their luck.” Robb said. “The Kingslayer has threatened my father’s life and my mother’s homelands. If war is what he wants, then that is what he shall get.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're moving along


	16. with hearts heavier than armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War rides on the horizon and the north gathers its armies.

_Dark wings, dark words_ , as Old Nan always said. “Not often does one send a raven to bestow good news.” But the three ravens that had flown to Winterfell carried words even darker than their wings. Disappearance, war, death. Winterfell and its people grew grim as well.

Then came the fourth raven.

A fortnight after the wildling attack, yet another raven flew from King’s Landing. King Robert Baratheon was dead.

Robert was dead but Rhaenys had lost all the will to rejoice as she once would have. The king’s death only meant his wretched son Joffery would be crowned. There was no word of Lord Stark or the girls. Robert’s death most likely left the Starks alone to to Cersei’s clemency.

Lady Stark was still in the Eyrie of the Vale of Arryn. She had taken Tyrion Lannister there, seeking for justice under the eye of her sister Lady Lysa Arryn; but the Imp demanded a trial-by-combat and had won. He was certainly on his way to King’s Landing while his father continued to amass armies. Fighting and raiding had already broken out in the Riverlands.

Robb called for the banners, and northern lords trekked to Winterfell, the thoughts of war hanging heavy. Rhaenys did her duty and sent a raven to Sunspear, beseeching for Doran Martell’s support. 

Another fortnight, another letter. This time, from Sansa. It arrived late in the night, bearing a direwolf seal. Luwin brought the letter to Robb’s and Rhaeny’s chamber, insisting urgency.

_“Dearest brother, our lord-father has betrayed King Robert and the royal family. Father plotted to turn the rule of the Seven Kingdoms to His Grace’s brother, Lord Stannis Baratheon. I beg you brother, on your honor as a Stark, keep the King’s Peace. Gather our family and travel south to King’s Landing, to swear fealty to the crown prince Joffery.”_

_…and please, Robb, do not worry for me. Her Grace treats me with the upmost kindness, even if I am of traitor’s blood.”_

Robb read the letter twice, his expression changing from concern to rage. He was so angry, he could not speak. Rhaenys took the letter from him, her brow furrowed. “These are Cersei’s words Robb! Written in Sansa’s hand in an attempt to blunt them.”

Maester Luwin read the letter over Rhaeny’s shoulder. “Lord Stark's imprisonment would leave Sansa and Arya at the queen’s mercy. Sansa wouldn’t any other choice but to obey.”

“Sansa hadn’t the mind to mention Arya!” Robb said.

Rhaenys wasn’t cold but she shivered in her dressing gown. Where was Arya? Was she imprisoned as well? Did Cersei mean to involve only the elder sister? 

“Traitor’s blood.” Rhaenys muttered. “What lies did the Lannister woman birth?”

“Gods know my father is not a traitor!” Robb said. “So long as they hold him captive, my honor as a Stark will have them at the North’s mercy.”

—

In the Great Hall, yet another feast was prepared. The banners of House Umber were hung beside the Stark’s; a roaring giant surrounded by shattered chains.

Bran was allowed feast with many lords, a prospect that would have once delighted him. Now he only felt dread in the light of war. Theon, Jon, and Rhaenys also sat with Robb, at a table headed by Jon Umber. Lord Umber was usually called Greatjon, for he stood seven feet tall and yielded a longsword even larger than Lord Stark’s Ice. He guffawed when Rhaenys took her place to Robb’s left, as she did every night.

“I mean no offense my lord, but a woman has no place to bear her ears to the discussion of battle!”

Every lord had repeated Umber’s words, albeit rather differently. None of them were spared of Rhaenys’ wit and she won their respect quite easily.

“I assure you, Lord Umber, I have no plans to don armor and steal your warhorse and glory, if such is what you fear.” Rhaenys said. Jon Umber laughed once more, raising his tankard to her. 

But when Robb told Lord Umber that Galbert Glover was to lead the vanguard, Greatjon’s famed pride reared its head. “I’ve been making corpses from men long before you were birthed, boy!” He slammed his tankard on the table. “I will lead the vanguard!”

“Lord Glover will lead the van.” Robb repeated.

“The bloody Wall will melt before a Glover leads an Umber!” Lord Umber roared. “I lead the van or else I will march my men back home!”

Rhaenys and Bran looked with bewilderment as Theon snorted quietly. Jon Snow stared at the great man in disbelief. The Umbers were sworn to the Starks; Jon Umber threatened to break his House’s oath, all for a place in the vanguard.

Robb glared at Lord Umber with a look no different than a prowling wolf. “You are welcome to do so Lord Umber. When I am done with the Lannisters, I shall march back north, root you out of your keep, and hang you for an oathbreaker.”

“OATHBREAKER!?” Lord Umber stood up and swept his plate aside. Nearly all of his men stood as well, unsure of what to do. “Call yourself ‘lord’ and play castle with your wife, but I will not take insults from a man so green!” He reached for his longsword and at once, many more people stood. Before Robb could touch his hilt, Grey Wind snarled and leapt onto the table. He ran down it and jumped on Lord Umber, the latter screaming as the direwolf bit him.

Grey Wind finished his assault very suddenly, with the sound of a final tear echoing. He ran off as Lord Umber struggled to rise. As he did, all saw that Grey Wind had ripped two of his fingers off. 

Lord Umber gripped his bleeding hand as Robb spoke. “My lord-father taught me it was death to bare steel against your liege lord. I doubt you meant to cut my meat.”

Greatjon Umber looked at his bleeding stubs before turning to Robb. Then he started to laugh. “Your meat is bloody tough!” The hall erupted with laughter, even Robb.

Lord Umber then relinquished his self-given right to the vanguard, showing off his maimed hand to his men. 

—

Days after, Rhaenys received a letter bearing a sun-and-spear seal. Doran wrote that Oberyn Martell had already rallied the bannermen and had sailed north some days ago. They were to join with Robb’s and Edmure Tully's banner men in the Riverlands, as agreed. He also sent warning of Oberyn’s untouched hunger for vengeance.

_I fear your uncle fights not for your husband, but for his own desires. He has waited years upon years for a chance to take vengeance upon the Lannisters. This war is but a formal excuse. Take heed, dear niece._

In their chamber, Rhaenys shared Doran’s words with Robb, who thought nothing more of it. “Prince Oberyn fights to avenge your mother and brother. I can hardly fault him for that.”

“He’ll still fight under your command.” Rhaenys pointed out. “And Uncle Oberyn is about as quick-tempered as a viper.”

“So he’s where you get that from.” Robb said, a smile crossing his face; a rare sight these days.

“I have not a temper!” Rhaenys said indignantly.

“The seven hells couldn’t match your fury.” Robb said, brimming with affection. He started to recall some of the times where Rhaenys’ temper got the better of her. Rhaenys scowled through all of it, only softening when Robb laughed and pulled her to him.

—

Rhaenys watched as Jon tested his new long sword, swinging at the cold air with expertise. The courtyard was teeming with men, all yelling and swearing as they prepared for their egress from Winterfell on the morrow. Robb had convened with the northern lords once more; this truly was war.

Jon sliced at the air yet again and Rhaenys snapped; “you’re not fighting the wind!” He looked at her, baffled by her hostility; he sheathed the blade and went to sit on the sill with her. Rhaenys’ expression was dour, as it had been all morning.

“We will win this war, Rhaenys.” Jon said.

“Such is what every man says.” Rhaenys replied. “I’m sure my father said the same as he spurred to meet Robert.”

“The Lannisters never met northern steel.” Jon remarked. “Or direwolves.”

Rhaenys crossed her arms under her cloak. She suddenly felt very cold. “The last war left me an orphan.” She clenched her teeth, holding back tears. “I don’t want this one to leave me a widow…” Her vision blurred and a icy wind buffeted her cheeks. She grasped Jon’s arm and leaned on his shoulder, not bothering to hold back any more tears.

“Rhaenys, the Lannisters won’t take anymore from you.” Jon murmured. “The Starks shall return to the north and you will grow old with Robb.”

“Promise me, Jon?”

“I promise, Rhae.”

“And you will return with the Starks?” Rhaenys mumbled.

“…Robb would kill me if I did not.” 

—

When the morning dawned, cold and grey, most of Winterfell gathered outside to bid farewell to the northern armies. Robb was clad in armor and wore a look of dauntlessness vitiated by the sorrow in his eyes. His heart grew heavier than his armor as Rhaenys wrapped her arms around his neck. 

Rhaenys knew no one in the courtyard, not even Greatjon Umber, would fault her for crying but tears would not help Robb. She had to tear herself away from him, guilt-ridden for burdening Robb with her own heavy heart. He kissed her for a last time.

"Don't fret Rhaenys. We'll win this war soon enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its going to get rough.
> 
> Also, the scene with Jon Umber and Robb was one of my favorites. Umber got two fingers bitten off by a direwolf and he makes a joke about. Northerners are weird/badass.


	17. and so they watch with sightless eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gods listen and watch. As does a spider.

Rhaenys wasn’t sure if Rickon grew wild because of Shaggydog or if Shaggydog grew wild because of Rickon.

The child had gone from downhearted to feral in a matter of moons. His hair grew as shaggy as his direwolf’s and no maid could have approached him without getting kicked or even bitten. Rhaenys told the girls to leave Rickon be; his mother would return home soon enough.

Shaggydog, however, had taken chucks of flesh out of several people, including Gage and Mikken. Only Summer could have subdued him, but not without injury. When Shaggydog was confined and chained in the kennels, Rickon screamed and cried as though a wraith overcame him.

Robb had been eleven days gone and Rhaenys spent those days attending to Winterfell, as she had always done. Bran was Lord of Winterfell in Robb’s absence. He was still a child, but he was bright and thoughtful. With the help of Rhaenys and Luwin, he endured. Yet, his mind wandered to other places, from the wings of his three-eyed crow to the mysteries of beyond the Wall. 

Rhaenys thought Osha the wilding was only feeding Bran’s imagination with outlandish tales of the ice-skinned Others and surviving magic that dwelled at the edge of the world. For a woman who wanted to sell Bran to a wildling king, Osha took kindly to him and they often prayed in the godswood together. Her feet were always chained and no one was worried that she would try to escape or snatch Bran. Had she tried regardless, Rhaenys would have killed her herself.

—

Rhaenys prayed that a baby would soon grow in her belly, as Cersei’s words and false smile often crept behind her in the dark and silence; _“the women of your line were attested to have trouble with their wombs…”_ Did Cersei fear Rhaenys’ first-born son as Robert did? Someone to dethrone her precious Joffery?

As Rhaenys walked to the godswood, she dared to envision a son, dragon and wolf blooded with eyes as blue as Robb’s, as a true and righteous king. _Treacherous thinking,_ she thought. _My son will be Lord of Winterfell. He hasn’t the need for the Iron Throne and a broken crown._

The sight of the godswood tugged at her heart. Rhaenys remembered when Robb first kissed her, in the sight of the carved face of the heart tree. Perhaps she ought to be in the sept, praying to the Warrior and the Mother. The old gods were not her own yet she thought to beseech them, for Robb. As Rhaenys approached the heart tree, she noticed the wildling woman knelt in prayer before the heart tree. Osha heard her, raising her head in acknowledgment. “I thought you knelt to other gods. Seven of 'em.” Osha remarked, not moving her eyes from the carved face. Rhaenys knelt next to the woman. “Here in the north, the gods of the forests are the only gods.”

“Aye. They rule these lands... yet hold no power south.” 

Rhaenys frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The weirwoods _were_ the gods, m’lady. The children of the forest used to see through the eyes of weirwoods with carved faces– see through the eyes of the gods.” She glanced at Rhaenys. “In the south, all the weirwoods south were cut to build fires. You cannot see without eyes m’lady. The gods remain sightless in those lands.”

Rhaenys felt thorns prick at her heart and belly. "Are you saying the gods can’t protect Robb and his men as they march south?"

"Nay, m'lady." Osha seemed to have been well taught about the old gods, according to Bran and even Luwin. Her words seemed ominous and little reason to be doubted. 

The two knelt in silence as a light wind danced though the leaves. Osha looked up, her face reverent. “Ah, they hear you, m’lady.”

“The wind?”

“You think the gods of the forest, stone, and rivers speak with words?” Osha scoffed. “The wind is their voice, as the weirwood were their eyes. But no man could ever burn the wind.”

“No, they cannot.” Rhaenys agreed. She wondered if the winds of the north could carry her prayers. 

“Osha, regardless, blind gods would hold more power than sighted men.”

“Aye. Always.” Osha replied. “Such is why only the faithful continue to kneel to sightless gods.” She grinned. “Never thought i’d see a woman faithful to gods that aren’t her own.”

“I never thought i’d be kneeling before the heart tree with a wildling.”

Both women remained knelt before the heart tree’s bleeding eyes until Maester Luwin walked into the godswood, seeking Rhaenys.

—

A letter arrived for Rhaenys, from King’s Landing. It bore no seal and was written in an unfamiliar hand. Rhaenys did not recognize the name either.

_Lady Rhaenys Stark. Do forgive me, for I only remember you as Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, a girl of three who often pretended her black kitten Balerion was the famed dragon of old. I do often wonder what became of that cat. Now you live in the North, surrounded by wolves and snow and peace. If the world was just, then peace would be yours._

_My lady, we both know very well that the world is not a just place._

_Lord Stark remains a prisoner in the Red Keep. Sansa pleads for his freedom and his life. King Joffery is furious that his father's Hand plotted to depose him. Arya is no where to be found. Curious, how a girl of twelve evaded capture from Lannister men-- Cersei's men. She is a clever girl indeed and I am more than certain that she is alive._

_Lord Jon Arryn pleaded with King Robert to honor the pact he made so many years ago. To trust Ned Stark and his honor, as he once and always did. To allow you to your life. Now him and Robert are dead. Lord Stark has been marked as a traitor, his honor now worth less than the dirt that the coinless walk upon. It would seem that Cersei Lannister had shared Robert's concern after all. If Joffery ever makes sense of his parents' fears, then you will be in danger once again._

_I am afraid that I must add to your burden: with your husband raising armies and marching south, the queen suspects even further treachery from the Starks and now the North. Sansa has beseeched for her family to swear fealty to King Joffery and the refusal has translated to treason._

_Now here we are, yet again. In the teeth and steel of war. It would seem that Tywin Lannister decided to join this time, rather than wait for a victor again. He currently marches east to the Trident, to the Ruby ford. Quite the bold move, is it not?_

_I have done a foolish thing, Lady Rhaenys. I have pitied you. But if you are even an ember of the fire your namesake once burned with, then my pity would be folly on my behalf._

_But I do love when I am proven right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens.


	18. the stronghold in the fen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys decides to take a mysterious stranger's words for truth.

The morning after receiving the letter from “Lord Varys”, Rhaenys called for a council in the Great Hall, with Maester Luwin and Bran. Luwin said that he had never heard the name “Varys”. “A man of King’s Landing, and without a doubt, a man of the Lannisters,” he remarked. 

The man must have been of King’s Landing for quite some time, for he claimed that he knew Rhaenys as a little girl. If he was a kind man, then Rhaenys would not remember; she could only recall the terrible men. 

“Arya lives and Tywin marches.” Rhaenys said. “That is all I care to know.”

Luwin tugged at his chained collar. “My lady, we must take these words lightly. King’s Landing is teeming with the treacherous.”

“But he revealed Tywin Lannister’s movements,” Bran pointed out. “Lord Vary would be treacherous to the Lannisters, not us.”

“What cause would have Tywin march his armies to the Ruby ford?” Luwin asked. “Fighting has only broken out in the Riverlands, moving closer towards Riverrun.”

Rhaenys knew that Robb and his men had decided to cross the Trident at the Ruby ford, for it would take much time to convince the wizened and stubborn Lord Walder Frey to cross the river at his stronghold, The Twins. The Trident was also close to the Saltpans, where Oberyn and the thousands of Martell bannermen were to come ashore.

Rhaenys repeated this to Luwin. “Tywin means to ambush Robb at the ford,” she insisted, fear sinking into her heart with talons.

Luwin considered this. “A possibility, but we do not know for certain!”

Rhaenys stared at the maester. Theon often likened him to a timid old woman. 

Luwin tugged at his collar once more. “My lady, this is not a war council.”

“Is this not war?” Rhaenys asked, annoyed. 

“Unfortunate that is it, my lady, but to rely on the words of a stranger who treads paths with your enemies is far too dangerous.”

“You think it all conjecture.”

“Very much so, my lady.”

“Lady Stark sailed to King’s Landing because of conjecture.” Rhaenys remarked. “She exposed the treachery of the Lannisters’ because of it!”

Luwin sighed and leaned back into his chair. Bran looked worried. “Then what shall you do, Rhaenys?

“Moat Cailin is nearly a fortnight's ride.”

Even if Varys told lies, what harm would it be let Robb know? 

The maester’s face turned incredulous. “You mean to go to Cailin?”

“Maester Luwin, I rather not hear word about my husband and his bannermen being ambushed.”

“You could be late yourself.” Luwin remarked. “It’s dangerous for you to leave Winterfell, more than ever.” 

“Are you referring to Joffery?” Rhaenys asked. “He’d only join the tally of people who want me dead. There is nothing new about that. ”

\---

Within a couple days, Rhaenys and Ser Arron Qorgyle had spurred south to Moat Cailin. Bran was unhappy to see Rhaenys leave, but understood her reasons far better than Luwin did; the maester was still certain Lord Varys meant to lure Rhaenys away from Winterfell. Rhaenys grew cross with Luwin. He may live well with uncertainly but she could not.

“I’d like to see the Lannisters dare to make it that far north.” Rhaenys snorted. “They’d walk right into the northernmen..”

She hugged Bran tightly. “Your lady-mother will return shortly. She’ll be proud to see how well you’ve done as lord.” 

“Rhaenys, please be careful.” Bran begged. 

“I will be home soon enough. Luwin will guide you well.”

As Rhaenys expected, Rickon did not even say goodbye to her, nor did he look upon her face when she tried to kiss him farewell.

\---

Ser Arron Qorgyle had been her sworn-shield since she was ten, making the journey from Sunspear to Winterfell with her. He took well to the north, training and sharing ale with the northern calvary. Rhaenys did not dare to take another man from Winterfell’s guard; the numbers had been diminished far enough and more men still needed to be trained. 

Rhaenys had never ridden so far south from Winterfell and permitted herself to take in the northern beauty. Tiny inns were spaced along the kingsroad. Not many dornishwoman ventured to the North and many innkeepers they encountered easily guessed who Rhaenys was from her coloring.

“Aye, the dornish-she wolf,” an innkeeper grinned, revealing a couple of broken teeth. “Yer safe and welcomed here, m’lady. Yer lord fights to bring Eddard Stark home. ”

\---

After fourteen days of riding, Moat Cailin loomed ahead in the dying fog. It was an ancient and ruined stronghold, built by the First Men upon the edge of a great swamp called the Neck. Ser Arron urged for care, as their horses trotted along the soft and muddy path. It was boggy and the knight warned of well hidden lizard-lions and their rows of dagger-like teeth.

All that was truly left of the fallen stronghold were three towers. Rhaenys noticed the lone banner flying from the tallest and most sound tower. Upon her approach, she saw the snarling grey direwolf upon icy-white and her heart leapt with joy. They were not too late…and Robb was so close. 

As she and Ser Arron rode to the shadows of Moat Cailin, where several men were gathered. Some of then recognizd Rhaenys Stark and bowed their heads in respect. Rhaenys spotted Torrhen Karstark sparing with his brother. He realized her quite easily, as he helped to strip her for her wedding night.

“Lady Rhaenys!” Torrhen exclaimed, abandoning his sword fight. “What are you doing in Moat Cailin?”

Rhaenys slid off Stormy. “I got word about Tywin Lannister. Robb should know.”

Torrhen nodded and gestured to the tower where the Stark banner flew. “He’s in the Gatehouse Tower, with Lord Umber and Lord Bolton.” Rhaenys thanked him, and Torrhen offered Arron to help with the horses. Knowing Rhaenys was safe. Arron agreed and the two men left to water and feed the horses.

Rhaenys made her way into the drafty and sparsely lit halls. She found Robb with the lords Umber and Bolton, along with Jon, Theon, Grey Wind and Ghost. Robb was standing at the head of a stone longtable, his back to her. Lord Bolton was speaking, his voice soft as spider webs. He glanced away from Robb, furrowing his brow as he saw Rhaenys and he fell silent. Robb turned around quickly. “Rhaenys?!”

Rhaenys wanted to run to him and lace her fingers around his neck. And kiss him. Gods how she wanted to kiss him. Yet she had already interrupted a war council and Robb needed upmost respect from his older lords, not a starry-eyed wife. “Hello Robb,” she said, as Grey Wind padded up to her. He and Ghost had grown since she last saw them. He bumped his head against her hand and she stroked him. Grey Wind yelped quietly and trotted back to his place in front of the fire.

Robb approached her next, his surprised expression softening, and took Rhaenys into his arms, caring less about the presence of his lords. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured into her ear. “I’ve missed you too,” Rhaenys whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

After they broke away, the rest of the men paid their respects to Rhaenys.

“Lady Rhaenys, you’ve meant to steal my glory after all!” Lord Umber guffawed, kissing her hand. 

“I would not dare, Lord Umber.” Rhaenys smiled.

“A lovely sight in this accursed swamp.” Lord Bolton said, approaching her. But his kind words seemed cold and his pale-eyes made Rhaenys uneasy. She liked Roose Bolton the least of the Stark bannermen, but he commanded ears as well as he commanded men; a worthy ally.

The last two to greet Rhaenys were Theon and Jon, happily and wholeheartedly. “I hope you didn’t ride here alone,” Jon said as he hugged her. 

“No, I was accompanied by Ser Arron.” 

“Rhaenys, why have you ridden this far?” Robb asked curiously, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

Rhaenys reached beneath her cloak to pull out Varys’ letter. “A letter, from King’s Landing.”

“Sansa?” Robb asked, taking the letter,

“No. A man called Varys.”

Robb’s brow furrowed but he said nothing else as he read it. 

“Arya escaped!” He breathed. “Thank the gods…”

“That is the only good news, i’m afraid.” Rhaenys said grimly. When Robb’s expression suddenly grew dark, she knew his eyes found the words that spoke of Tywin Lannister. “Tywin marches east, to the Ruby ford?” He asked.

“Could be lies.” Rhaenys admitted. “Maester Luwin was certain this Lord Varys serves the Lannisters.”

Lord Bolton cleared his throat. “My lady, forgive my intrusion… Lord Varys is an eunuch in the king’s court, installed there as a spymaster by your grandfather Aerys.”

Rhaenys stared at him in disbelief. “He served the _Targaryens_?” 

“Quite faithfully, my lady. Until Aerys was slain and Robert Baratheon spurred to King’s Landing to claim the throne.” Lord Bolton replied. “I was there myself, as I had accompanied Robert. He called for the eunuch, knowing he was a spy for Aerys, and had him profess his loyalties. Needless to say, Varys condemned the Targaryens and bent the knee to Robert.”

“He now serves Joffery, then.” Rhaenys presumed. 

Robb folded the letter. “Whomever he serves, Varys gave you valuable information.”

“What, about Tywin?”

“We _did_ learn that he marches east, but we still hadn’t known to where.” Robb admitted. “I thought he’d convene with the Kingslayer in Riverrun, but it would seem that he has no plans to.”

Rhaenys then repeated her speculations to Robb as she had told Luwin; about a possible ambush at the Ruby ford. 

“Feasible, my lord.” Lord Bolton remarked. “As both sides are confident that Walder Frey wouldn’t allow passage to any army.”

“Tywin has no need to cross the Trident and lay siege on the north.” Robb said. “Not until his victories are secured in the Riverlands-- but such will not happen.”

“Then we shall meet Tywin Lannister in battle!” Lord Umber roared. “Give that lion a taste of northern steel!”

“No, Lord Umber. We need to march to Riverrun!” Robb commanded. “We cannot waste our breath and steel on Tywin Lannister.”

“My lord, crossing the Trident anywhere else could cost us days and men.” Lord Bolton remarked.

“Not if we cross at The Twins.”

“What of Lord Frey?” Lord Umber inquired. Lord Frey was as prickly and vain as a rose, but certainly not as pretty. He had seven wives and a countless number of children and descendants, true-born and bastard. “Convincing that old rabbit to let us cross his stronghold is a war all on its own.”

“I’ll determine how that happens.” Robb said. “I must send a raven to Harrenhal. Prince Oberyn and his men have been awaiting our arrival.”

Rhaenys brightened. “Oberyn has come ashore then?”

“Days ago, actually.” Robb replied, smiling at her. “Lady Whent promised to host them at her stronghold and we were meant to convene there, after we crossed at the Ruby ford.”

“Lord Robb, perhaps you can send the dornish to clash with Tywin’s forces.” Lord Bolton suggested. “I’m sure Prince Oberyn would welcome the encounter.”

Robb frowned. "The dornishmen were sent to aid us, not fight battles for us, Lord Bolton. Once we cross the Trident, I shall send men to Harrenhal. Tywin will meet with both northern and dornish men.”

“Aye, that’ll be a sight to behold!” Lord Umber chuckled.

\---

Robb sent the men away, leaving only Rhaenys in the dimly lit hall. 

“You command them well, Robb.” Rhaenys remarked, sitting upon the longtable. Back in Winterfell, the northern lords tested their young liege lord, demanding for certain honors. At the end, Robb had them all bent to his will.

“The north has been threatened by the Lannisters. We all mean to repay them in kind and i’m honored to lead them.” Robb said. He cupped her face with one hand. “Had it not been for you, we would have marched into a death trap.”

“I wouldn’t have known had it not been for Varys.” Rhaenys remarked.

“I’m sure Luwin tried to convince you to remain in Winterfell. You risked the ride on the word of a stranger. Some would call that daring, others would call it foolish.”

“And what do you call it?”

Robb smiled. “You are not a fool. You are my daring wife.” He kissed her forehead, before kissing her mouth. Rhaenys tugged him closer, tangling her fingers in his hair.

“Gods, help me. I don’t want to send you back.”

“Then don’t.” Rhaneys breathed.

“It’s too dangerous.” Robb said, pulling away. “I need to keep you safe, Rhae.”

“So long as Joffery is king and Cersei is his mother, danger lurks everywhere.”

“You’re going back to Winterfell.” Robb insisted. “We await Lord Manderly’s forces. I can spare a few men to take you home.”

“Not yet, Robb.” Rhaenys pleaded. “You need to cross The Twins. Let me meet with Walder Frey.”

Robb looked at her curiously. “ _You_ want to treat with Lord Frey?”

“I would have to write to Uncle Doran first though…i’m afraid my cousin Trystane isn’t going to be happy with me….”

\---

Six days after Rhaenys, Lady Catelyn Stark arrived to Moat Cailin, along with her uncle Ser Brynden Tully, and Lord Manderly’s sons Ser Wylis and Ser Wendel, and their 1,500 men. Lady Stark was surprised to see Rhaenys in Cailin and sitting in Robb’s war council. Upon greeting Rhaenys, Lady Stark embraced her like a daughter. After receiving the bannermen’s respect, Lady Stark sent all away so she could speak with her son.

After Rhaenys wandered outside, Jon approached her quickly, a letter in his hand. “Oh thank the gods.” Rhaenys exclaimed as she saw the sun-and-spear seal. “I’d hate to have you for a cousin,” Jon remarked as Rhaenys read the letter. She sighed with relief. “Uncle Doran agreed. If Lord Frey’s fabled pride precedes him, then one of his daughters will become a princess.” Whatever it took to defeat the Lannisters, Doran Martell would surely consider it.

“Poor Trystane.” Jon snorted.

“I don’t like it either, Jon.” Rhaenys admitted. “But promising Trystane to a Frey girl could help grant Robb passage across The Twins.”

“Let us hope so.” Jon said. “Walder Frey seems to like weddings.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I estimated that it would take a month and a half to travel from Sunspear to Saltpans, by ship. In terms of our good old Gregorian calendar system, Oberyn left in early november and arrived to Saltpans in late december. If this seems off to you, please let me know. This being said, I do have an approximate canon ASOIAF timeline that i'm using to plot out this series. Its pretty rad.
> 
> Also, I have NO IDEA how people in westeros learn about enemy movements. Was it ever mentioned how Robb knew Tywin that the latter was waiting at Ruby ford? I don't remember. Bottomline is Rhaenys saved the day what more could we want?
> 
> And apologizes to Trystane Martell. Myrcella is completely out of the question.


	19. the lord of the crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb needs to cross the Green Fork and House Frey's heavily tolled bridge is the safest place.

_{301 AC}_

The sun was high when they finally reached the Twins; two robust but ugly towers on either side of the Green Fork, connected by the coveted bridge. It was more or less impenetrable, leaving behind Theon’s idea of a siege if Walder Frey refused their crossing. The Freys made their fortune from their hideous stronghold; six hundred years of toll. If Robb couldn’t pay Lord Frey’s unnamed toll, then he’d have no choice but to meet Tywin in battle, allowing Jaime to continue his siege on Riverrun.

From afar, Rhaenys watched the tower on their side of the river. Men have already started to gather on the sally port. There was no doubt that they had seen the thousands of men and the banners of the northern houses. Behind Rhaenys, Lady Stark approached her on her courser, looking pale and grim. She choose to delay her return to Winterfell, as her father Lord Hoster Tully was said to be dying within his walls of Riverrun. 

“My lady?” Rhaenys queried, wondering what could have caused her good-mother to look so. Had Lord Tully taken his last breath?

“My uncle returned with news...Edmure’s host have been defeated and he was captured by Jaime.”

Rhaenys throat felt dry. “Has Jaime taken Riverrun?”

“No, but it’s only a matter of time…”

Rhaenys tore away from Lady Stark’s face to stare at the Twins. Robb needed that crossing. “We can’t treat with time, my lady, but Lord Frey is only a man.”

“A untrustworthy man, Rhaenys. Expect nothing from a Frey.”

“I expect him to honor his liege lord’s banner men.” But even that was too high of an expectation; Frey’s forces met with a Lannister host but they drew quickly back to the Twins. 

“Even so, Lord Frey has always been too friendly with the Lannisters.” Lady Stark said darkly.

Rhaenys scowled at the raging Green Fork and the accursed bridge. “Why is it always the _Lannisters_? What if Lord Frey betrays Robb to Tywin?”

“Arrows are trained at the sky, watching for dark wings.” Lady Stark remarked. “Not a word will escape from this stronghold. I’ll have this entire land blanketed in black feathers and dead birds before Lord Frey betrays my son.”

\---

They reached the sally port of the Twins, now guarded by a dozen knights led by old man with a weasel-like face and tiny grey eyes. Up close, the castle appeared more menacing and dreary. Even the water in the moat shown sickly green. The old man spoke, his voice husky with age. “I am Ser Stevron Frey, Heir to the Twins. My lord father bestows his greetings. Who leads the mighty host?”’

From Rhaenys’ side, Robb rode forward. “I do.” Grey Wind matched the stallion’s steps, and the knights eyed the direwolf nervously. As they should. Ser Stevron nodded. “Lord Frey would be honored to have you share your intent over his meat and mead.” But his invitation was not extended to the rest of the lords, sparking accusation. 

“My lord, do not enter those walls alone! Lord Walder can not be trusted” Maege Mormont exclaimed. Roose Bolton agreed.“Walder Frey would think no less than selling you to Tywin.” Such is how the rest of the northerners declared their suspicions. Ser Stevron grayish skin flushed, as his father was marked a deceiver and a coward.

“Let me meet with your lord father, Ser.” Rhaenys urged as she rode forward. Such is why she beseeched Robb to let her ride south with the forces, to offer her cousin Prince Trystane and a place in Sunspear to a Frey girl. But now Robb looked concerned; he had agreed with Rhaenys’ suggestion to meet with the Lord of the Crossing, but thought he’d be at her side while she spoke to Lord Frey. "My lady, Frey could make a small fortune if he sells _you_ to Tywin," Lady Mormont warned.

“Just who might you be, my lady?” Ser Stevron asked, looking up at her with a slight smirk on his lips. Grey Wind began to growl and Robb made no urge to stop him.

“Rhaenys Stark.”

“My father would be honored to speak with you.”

"Not _alone_ ," Robb demanded. "If not I, allow one of my men to accompany her!" 

Ser Stevron shook his head. "Apologizes, my lord. My lord father only called for one guest from your host."

Unexpectedly, Catelyn Stark joined Rhaenys’ side. “If I may, Ser, I would like to accompany Lady Rhaenys. Lord Hoster Tully is my lord father.”

“Mother, are you certain?” Robb asked, as uncertainty rippled throughout the bannermen. 

“Lord Frey is my father’s bannerman and had known me as a girl. He would not do any harm onto myself nor dare to hurt Rhaenys while I am there.” 

“Catelyn Tully, you are welcomed here.” Ser Stevron announced. “For the ease of your son, I leave my brother Ser Perwyn in his company until you are both returned.”

“He shall be our honored guest.” Robb said. "So long as my lady mother and wife are returned before evenfall."

Rhaenys spurred her horse along, as she and Lady Stark were surrounded by Freys and their men. Rhaenys did not glance behind her, as did Lady Stark.

\---

Lord Walder Frey sat in a lofty great hall surrounded by the many bearings of his seed. Lord Walder himself was ninety-years old but his newest (and eighth) wife stood at his side. The girl looked younger than her sixteen years, pale and frail, with tired blue eyes and hair of yellow straw. Lord Frey sat on a gnarled chair of wood, his grey skin and bald head spotted. “Little Cat.” Lord Frey greeted, raising his head slightly.

“Lord Frey. It is a pleasure to see you after so many years.” Lady Stark curtsied. But Lord Frey responded with a nasty laugh. 

“Spare me your pretty words! I know feigned sweetness when I hear it. Such is what happens when you had eight wives!”

Ser Stevron cleared his throat, visibly embarrassed. “Father, they are your guest at your invitation--”

“Are you lord here, boy?!” Frey roared, as his sixty-year old son shrunk away. “ _My_ castle, I do and say what I like! Those who don’t like it can piss off!”

Lady Stark glanced at Rhaenys. Well placed and careful words were needed, if they were to succeed. Lord Frey sucked his teeth, surveying Rhaenys. “Who’s this?” 

Rhaenys answered for herself. “I’m Rhaenys Stark, my lord.”

Lord Frey’s mouth opened to a nearly toothless grin. “I heard Robb Stark took a dornishgirl for his wife.” He turned to one of his many sons. “Eh, boy? You will never be so lucky.” Chuckling, Lord Frey returned his gaze to Rhaenys. “I got a son called Rhaegar, named for your father.” 

He called for his son Rhaegar and a short rounded man, with a wisp of a grey beard that did nothing to hide his weak chin, stepped forward. He gave Rhaenys a sardonic smile that revealed yellowed teeth. Rhaenys clenched her jaw to mask her contempt. The man was maggot to her father’s dragon.

“I got children upon children. I had to steal names from the dragons and other damned creatures.” Lord Frey wheezed. “But you did not come to my castle to discuss baby names.”

Lady Stark spoke. “Lord Frey, we seek passage across your bridge.”

“Across my bridge and onto Riverrun.” Lord Frey laughed. “I may be old, but I my eyes and ears work quite well.”

“Riverrun remains under siege.” Lady Stark said, not denying anything.

“You’d be too late. I hear Jaime Lannister had cut through your brother like cheese.”

“Edmure lives.” Lady Stark replied.

“Oh does he now? Makes no difference.” Lord Frey spat. “I’m sure Hoster Tully will appreciate it while he lays dying. His idiot son couldn’t defend his keep.” He leaned back into his seat. “How many years have I served the Tullys and not one offered his child to mine?”

“I’m sure my father had his reasons.” Lady Stark said, her face stern.

“I don’t need reasons, I need somewhere to put all these brats!” He called for wine, then yelled for everyone to leave him to his guests (which took some time). Once a goblet was placed in front of him and the hall was cleared of his offspring, Lord Frey leaned forward and pressed his bony fingers together.

“Rhaenys Stark, what’ve you to say on your husband’s behalf?”

“Jaime Lannister attacked Robb’s lord-father and killed several northernmen.” Rhaenys spoke, knowing Lady Stark was watching her. Delicacy was needed more than ever. “He means to repay Jaime in kind.”

“Ser Jaime slew a king when he was fifteen.” Lord Frey said, sipping his wine. “Robb Stark may have taken your maidenhead but he is as green as greensward. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pisses grass.”

Rhaenys could have strangled the old man. “Lord Frey, you are sworn to the Tullys! Your liege lord’s castle is at risk while you sit here counting your children.” Rhaenys kept her dark eyes on Walder Frey; she could not see the concern growing upon Lady Stark’s face.

“Oh, i’ve said words, words older than all our houses. And i’m also sworn to the crown, as are you, Lady Rhaenys.” Lord Frey looked at her over the rim of his goblet. “Your husband is more or less a rebel in the eyes of the king.”

“My lord, then you are more or less an oathbreaker in the eyes of the Tullys.”

Instead of being offended, Lord Frey cackled. “Bold words, girl! You think a traitor to the crown bares less wrong than an oathbreaker to a river lord?”

Rhaenys furrowed her brow. “Lord Frey, King Joffery is leagues away while Lord Tully is only beyond the river. You’ve more to fear that we do.”

Lord Frey rubbed his weak chin, looking amused. “Tell me, did Eddard Stark teach you how to kneel?”

“He did, my lord. He also taught me how to stand.” 

Walder Frey guffawed once more; Rhaenys was sure he could have laughed his final breath away. She dared to glance at her good-mother, who would have surely been angry at her insolence. Instead, Lady Stark’s blue eyes shined with amusement in the firelight.

“Lady Stark, i’m sure you came into my castle with a payment for my toll at your ready.”

\---

It was evenfall when Rhaenys and Lady Stark cantered out of the Twins. Behind them followed Ser Jared Frey, Ser Hosteen Frey, Ser Danwell Frey, Lord Walder’s bastard Ronel Rivers, and a long line of pikemen clad in ringmail and blue cloaks. Lord Frey’ had sent nearly four hundred men to join Robb’s army.

Robb awaited at the edge of the sally port, looking anxious. He brightened at the sight of his mother and wife and galloped to meet them. “It’s done.” Lady Stark said. “Lord Frey will grant you passage.” Robb looked relieved. “Rhae, you were right... Lord Frey would not resist wedding his daughter to a prince.”

“Actually…Trystane isn’t the only one marrying a Frey.” Rhaenys admitted. Robb stared at her. “What else did Frey demand?”

Lady Stark answered. “Once Arya is found and of age, she will marry Lord Walder’s youngest son Elmar.” 

Robb look bemused. “Arya is _not_ going to like that.” Rhaenys scrunched her nose in agreement. She had teased Arya about marrying a lord and having hundreds of children; Rhaenys prayed to the gods old and new that Elmar wouldn't grow to be like his father.

“Also, if and when Edmure is recovered... he will marry one of Lord Frey’s daughters.” Lady Stark continued. “The Tullys and Freys will finally be joined.”

Marriages aside, two of Lord Frey grandsons were to be fostered by Lady Stark in Winterfell and Olyvar Frey was to become Robb’s squire.

“And to make certain that Lord Frey keeps to his promises, you should leave four hundred swordsmen and archers at the Twins, under the care of a reliable man.” Lady Stark said. Robb suggested Ser Helman Tallhart and named him commander of the garrison upon summoning him.

\---

That evening, they finally crossed the Green Fork. Roose Bolton and several men, however, remained on the east bank to meet with Oberyn and his forces at Harrenhal. They were to lead a confrontation with Tywin Lannister at the Ruby ford. 

Robb make the decision to split the army, in order to clash with the two Lannisters. He decided that Lord Bolton was the best man to lead his army against Tywin, as Bolton’s cold cunning would be unexpected and perhaps enough to scare the lion. Rhaenys suggested that Lord Bolton fly Stark banners, so that Tywin’s scouts would spy the grey-and-white and let their lord believe that his ambush on Robb Stark would proceed as expected. 

Rhaenys could have gone back to Winterfell with the two Frey boys, but decided against it. Her uncle Oberyn would finally have his vengeance against Tywin Lannister and Robb was days away from meeting Jaime Lannister in battle. The wait for the word of their survival would have killed Rhaenys almost as surely as their deaths could have.

Robb gave up trying to convince Rhaenys to go home. Lady Stark didn’t even try. 

“You both share an iron will.” Lady Stark told Robb, as they reached the west bank of the Green Fork. “I have Ned to thank for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys, your Targaryen is showing.
> 
> And a second chapter, in two days! I have to start studying for The Most Important Standardized Exam Of My Entire Life next week (the exam is in august, so 3 months of torture), so updates may be slow. I'll still be writing though, so I don't go brain dead from studying.
> 
>  
> 
> Also frick walder frey, amirite


	20. the forest of whispers and waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long awaited battle is fought. Waiting is always the hardest part.

Jenny of Oldstones was a woman who wove flowers in her hair and danced with ghosts from morning to evenfall. There was a song about her, sweet and sad. Rhaenys couldn’t remember all the words. There were also whispers that Jenny had been friends with the wood witch who made prophecy about a Targaryen, born from the line of Aerys and Rhaella. Rhaenys didn’t know much of the prophecy; all she knew that her father was haunted by the words that promised his house a savior during dark days. At least, that is what Oberyn had once said.

_“Such was Rhaegar’s madness. Elia had written to me, confiding her concerns. Her son was only days old and Rhaegar named him ‘the prince that was promised’ with such a fire in his eyes…”_

Of course, Rhaenys had no care for prophecy or witches or dead princes. She cared for the nameless and forested valley between Oldstones and Riverrun where Robb sought to ambush Jaime Lannister. The northerners planned and plotted, encamped on a hill overlooking the Blue Fork in the shadow of the ruins of Oldstones.

Rhaenys wandered into what was once the castle’s yard. A great carved sepulcher remained, home to the tomb of Tristifer, Fourth of His Name, King of the Rivers and the Hills. The lid of tomb was carved in the likeness of the old king but after years of rain and wind, only the king’s beard was distinguishable, along with his stone warhammer. Wild roses of soft pink crept onto the tomb, from the king’s feet to his chest. 

The sight of the dead king’s tomb made Rhaenys sad and she didn’t know why. 

She skimmed the waist-high brown grass that surround the sepulcher with her fingers as she returned to the camp. More men had join Robb’s army, including a host from House Mallister and remnants of Edmure Tully’s scattered forces. Yet, they were still outnumbered.

But Jaime had grown complacent and bored, lulled by his easy victories. According to Ser Brynden and his scouts, the Lannisters had lazily separated into three groups, all camped along different riverbanks and left vulnerable. The few outriders that Jaime did post were easily cut down by Ser Brynden and his men. 

Jaime himself had repeatedly and foolishly ridden from his siege on Riverrun to chase raiders. Robb decided to send a few hundred men with Tully banners to lure Jaime and his men into the narrow valley. Once deep within the valley, Jaime would be ambushed by three separate forces of northernmen.

Back in the encampment, swords and arrows were already being whetted. Rhaenys had never seen so many banners in one place, all left to rest on the ground. From the larger of the tents, Robb emerged with Jon and Theon at his flank. As always, Jon looked solemn and Theon looked cocky; the two were Robb’s most trusted battle companions. Lords Umber and Karstark approached Robb before Rhaenys could. _Leave him be. He leads an army to battle on the morrow_ , she thought, her heart heavier than armor.

She spotted Lady Maege Mormont and her daughters Dacey and Alysane. Rhaenys had grown fond of the Mormont women, especially of Alysane, the Young She-Bear. Like her mother and sister, she was always clad in ring mail and boiled leather under her furs. Alysane also claimed that her the children were fathered by a bear and that she could skinchange into a bear.

“Lady Rhaenys!” Alysane bellowed. Many men found her crooked-toothed grin to be insincere but for Rhaenys, Alysane’s smile was as sincere as could be. Along with her sister, they honed their longswords, but Lady Mormont always wielded a spiked mace. Rhaenys approached the women and couldn’t help but know that Arya would have adored them as well.

Alysane held up her blade, watching it glint in the sunlight. “Aye, that’ll slice though ‘em Lannisters nicely!” She grinned at Rhaenys. “With your blessings, my lady, i’ll cut off their cocks and feed them to the crows.”

Dacey frowned at her sister. She held a bit more grace than her younger sister did, even with a mace or sword in hand. “Mind your tongue Alys!”

But Rhaenys laughed. “Lady Dacey, it’s alright. So long as the Lannisters and their men are dismembered in all ways possible.”

Alysane guffawed. “Now _that_ is the Bear Island way!”

Lady Mormont gave Rhaenys a proud smile. “Our girls are swaddled with bearskin and lulled to sleep by the sound of steel ringing in the air. The ironborn and wildlings had their share of our women’s swords at their necks.” 

“The Lannisters are long due for their share.” Rhaenys remarked.

“Aye, my lady. They say a Lannister always repays his debts. We shall make sure they do so, by the bite of our steel.”

—

Among the trees and the warhorses, there were whispers. 

Robb urged for it as they waited for Jaime to ride out out into the valley, boldly thinking he was laying chase to Tully men. In hushed voices, men made nervous jests, repeated battleplans, and prayed.

Rhaenys watched from atop her mare as Olyvar Frey helped Robb with his armor. Her fingertips felt numb and her heart panted like rain upon stone.

She could remember when Rhaegar left for war. He had suddenly reappeared in the Red Keep, after spending moons away. A handmaiden arrived to her mother’s solar to relay news of the crown prince’s return. Elia’s response was utterly lost in memory, but Rhaenys left her mother’s side, eager to see her father once more. 

She found him with (sardonically enough) Ser Jaime Lannister. Rhaegar was clad in the same armor he would later die in; polished black steel adorned with rubies and a blood-red three-headed dragon. Rhaenys cried out for him, nearly stumbling on clumsy feet and Rheagar took her in his arms, as if he never left her. “I missed you,” he had said and Rhaenys responded in kind. 

But then he left once more. Days later, he was dead.

Now Robb approached her, clad in ringmail and armor. He appeared more pensive than frighten (if he even was). Robb smiled, his sweet knowing smile he kept for her, and helped Rhaenys from her saddle. They looked upon each other and Rhaneys cupped his face with her hand. “I love you Robb,” she said quietly. 

Robb took her hand from his cheek and kissed it. “And I love you.” He lifted her chin gently and kissed her. Rhaenys could imagine they were back in WInterfell’s godswood, in the sight of the heart tree and speaking of wild things. How she wished they were in the godswood instead of this nameless forest full of whispers. 

“Watch for me, Rhae.” Robb murmured, touching her forehead with his. Rhaenys nodded; she felt tears stinging her eyes. 

But she did not cry, not even when Robb left atop his warhorse. The men were to see their liege lord before he led them to battle. Grey Wind followed behind him, like a menacing shadow. Theon said his farewell to Rhaenys; as did Jon with Ghost by his side.

“Rhaenys, I didn’t forget my promise.” Jon whispered to her.

“I know.”

—

Rhaenys heard the horns and knew the trap had been sprung. Snow shrikes shrieked and took flight into the night, disturbed by the sounds of the clash. She waited with Lady Stark, as they were both being protected by thirty men under Hal Mollen’s command. Rhaenys grew restless and fearful as she listened to the men yelling and steel meeting and Grey Wind snarling. In the moonlight, glints of armor and blades were seen, but nothing more. Lady Stark reached over to give Rhaenys’ hand a gentle squeeze. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

–

When dawn broke, so did the sounds of the battle. A wolf howled as the sun bled red along the sky. Grey Wind’s howl-song dared Rhaenys to leave the safety of the guard to walk Stormy ahead, to weave nervously in and out of trees and keep her watch. Hal and Lady Stark did not call for her, either out fear of alerting the enemy or out of understanding. 

Men started to trot back into the forest. Rhaenys gripped her mare’s reins but then she saw the Stark banners, tattered but fluttering. Many of the men were without their helm. She held her breath, searching for familiar faces and for Robb. Her heart leapt with relief, as she saw Alysane Mormont, blood upon her brow but a smile on her face. Behind her, Jon Snow was riding along with Ghost trailing behind him. A wounded Robin Flint was upon his saddle. One of the Frey men held on to a broken pike.

When Rhaenys found Robb, tears ran down her cheeks at last. 

Robb spurred to meet her, atop a different horse. He appeared unhurt, but his mailed glove and surcoat sleeve were black with blood. Robb reached out to cup Rhaenys’ cheek with his unbloodied gloved hand.

“Your’re hurt,” Rhaenys said.

“It’s Torrhen’s blood.” Robb replied dully. “Jaime slew him, along with his brother and Daryn Hornwood.”

Rhaenys drew in her breath sharply, grief nesting in her heart. Robb smiled sadly, wiping about her tears with his thumb.

“Come now, Rhaenys. I have something for Mother.”

—

Ser Jaime Lannister was thrown before Lady Stark’s horse. His golden armor was stained with blood, as was his face; a gash ran from his scalp to his cheek. He was a travesty to his golden lion.

“Lady Stark,” Jaime greeted, as if they were meeting within the halls of Winterfell. “I would offer you my sword, but I believe it was lost.”

“I care not for your sword.” Lady Stark said, her eye flints of ice and her voice rose like a storm. “ _Ser_ , give me my brother and my father. Give me my daughters and my husband.”

“My apologies. I lost them as well.” Jaime replied.

“Just as he “lost” his sword in Eddard Karstark’s neck.” Theon spat. 

“It was meant for your lord Robb Stark.” Jaime said, spitting a mouthful of blood. “The idiot had to be a hero.” He looked up again to finally meet eyes with Rhaenys. “Lady Rhaenys. You’re as lovely as ever.”

“Another word and i’ll have my horse kick your teeth out!” She retorted, glaring at the man who saved her twice; once from Amory Lorch and once from Robert Baratheon. She owed him nothing, especially not even his life; he slew the three men so he could try and murder Robb. 

“I say kill him and send his head to his lord father.” Theon remarked.

“No.” Robb said. “The Kingslayer is worth more to us alive. My lord father once said there is no glory in killing prisoners after a battle.”

Jaime laughed bitterly. “You could end this war right here, Stark. Think of the thousands of lives you can save, if you had the stomach to slay me where I kneel.”

“Your death won’t end the war you’ve started.” Robb said, his voice like ice. “I’ll make sure you see punishment for your crimes.”

“Rue your words, boy. Your honor will bury you in your crypts.”

Lady Stark called for the Kingslayer to be bound with every chain that could’ve been found and had him dragged away.

Rhaenys dismounted Stormy and went to join Robb; he was watching his men bound and shackle Jaime and the rest of the numerous prisoners. “We lost nearly two hundred men.” Robb said, pulling off his bloodied glove. “Gods know how many we lost at the Green Fork.” Rhaenys took his hand and leaned on his shoulder. 

“The Lannisters must have lost ten men for every one of ours.” Theon called out. “I wager the realm hadn’t seen such a victory since Aegon Targaryen’s Field of Fire!” 

“They did not die in vain, Robb.” Rhaenys said, deciding that was what Theon meant to say.

“I pray they did not,“ Robb replied. “But this was only one battle. We’ve still the war.” He kissed her temple. “I hope to present you with Tywin Lannister soon enough.”

Not far from them, Lady Stark was making inquires as to how close Jaime was to killing Robb. Lord Umber answered, saying that Robb was fighting a man clad in Lannister colors when Jaime attempted to cut him down from behind.

“Had it not been for Jon Snow, my lady, the Kingslayer would have succeeded.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure Rhaenys could remember things from when she was three (I know I can).  
> Also, Rhaenys becoming BFF's with the Mormonts, heck yeah.
> 
> And yeah, another chapter in like three days. I'm on a roll and i'm due for writer's block so i gotta make haste while the sun shines. And I just love writing okay.


	21. the king in the north

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One war ends but another looms.

Riverrun’s godswood was as beautiful as Winterfell's was forbidding; full of birdsong, flowers, and the gentle sound of streams. Redwoods and old elms rose high, forming a canopy that allowed sunlight to bathe the grounds. A forlorn face was carved upon a slender weirwood, watching as heavy hearted northerners prayed before it. Robb knelt before the heart tree as his lords fanned out behind him. Only Rhaenys was present at his side and the old gods weren’t even hers. But Robb beseeched her to join him. 

_“Never thought i’d see a woman faithful to gods that aren’t her own.”_ Osha the wildling’s voice echoed in her memory. Rhaenys knew that wasn’t true. In the end, she was always faithful to Robb. 

And what did it matter? The gods old and new called for silence on that cruel day, watching with the rest of the people of King’s Landing as Joffery gave the order for Ned Stark to be executed; but not before Lord Stark declared that he had plotted to murder the king and claim the Iron Throne for himself; Cersei Lannister’s grotesque lies had been his final words.

Rhaenys could hear the shuffling of cloaks as the lords and Mormont ladies rose from their prayers. She opened her eyes and tears escaped down her face. Those tender days when she thought herself a princess of Dorne like her cousin Arianne had certainly gone to shadow and sand; dornishwomen did not waste water so faintly. But Ned Stark had been Rhaenys' father longer than Rhaegar was. Longer than Doran and Oberyn had been father to her. _Your father died in the Trident_ , people had always said.

 _He also died at King's Landing,_ Rhaenys would also say.

Ashamed to shed tears before the old gods, Rhaenys started to stand; but Robb lightly caught her wrist. He had been wordlessly distraught since the morning, when the harrowing words of his father’s death reached the northerners; yet he remained bitterly composed as they spurred and sailed to Riverrun. Now they were alone, in the sight of the gods, and Rhaenys could finally see the storm in his azure eyes. 

Robb was anything but heavy in her arms, as grief dragged them both under like armor in the river. Rhaenys laced her fingers together behind his neck, holding him close as he sobbed. Her own tears bleared her vision until all the world was a a blur of green, only aware of Robb pressing against her.

“I’ll kill them all,” he finally said.

“We will,” she replied. “Every last one of them.”

—

Jon had been weary to enter the stronghold where Catelyn Stark had been born, but Ser Brynden insisted he think nothing of it. “You fought a won battle, boy. You’re welcomed here.” Lady Stark left to see her lord father, escorted by her worn-faced but otherwise unhurt brother Edmure. She had no time or desire to berate Jon for daring to step foot into her family’s castle. All knew Jon Snow was Ned Stark’s bastard and perhaps that was why they left him to his peace.

But Jon was still unsure, as he had remained outside the castle since their arrival. Rhaenys found him with Ghost, both sitting on the edge of one of the many wooden docks that were built along the bank of the river. She joined them, her boots dangling over the water.

“Why did this happen, Rhae?” Jon asked, his voice thick with emotion.

“Because Joffery is a monster that wears a crown.” Rhaenys answered angrily. She thought of Sansa, now a hostage in the house of her father’s murderers; was Sansa still to wed Joffery? She couldn’t possibly….Yet Rhaenys knew that the Lannisters were _that_ cruel.

“Renly Baratheon must have thought the same.” Jon remarked. “Seeing how he as claimed the crown as his.”

“So i’ve heard.”

As soon as she and Robb returned from the godswood, Galbart Glover approached them with the disturbing news. Robert’s youngest brother had married Lady Margaery Tyrell, winning the swords and support of her house. He was even crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms at their stronghold, Highgarden. Robb insisted for a council to discuss the strange news. All thought Renly’s older brother Stannis would have taken his rightful chance to seize the throne from his evil and vacuous nephew. Rhaenys repeated this to Jon, who shrugged. “If Stannis does decides to crown himself as king, we’ll have another war on our horizons. ”

" _Another war_." Rhaenys repeated bitterly. She watched the sunlight dance across the water, dazzling her eyes. She didn’t want another war; she wanted to find Sansa and Arya and take them home to Winterfell. Yet, she wanted to watch the Lannisters bled redder than the scarlet of their banners. Redder than the fire and blood of the Targaryen's words.

—

The council was held that evening in Riverrun's Great Hall. Lord Hoster Tully was too weak to attend, but Edmure and the Blackfish did, along with several Tully bannermen. The smaller number of northern lords, along with Theon, Catelyn, and Jon (as Robb insisted, and refused hear another word against his bastard brother’s presence) gathered around Robb; Rhaenys, as always, was by his side.

And the river and northern lords argued late into the night, as candles and fires burned low as fury flared. Roose Bolton and Oberyn Martell had reformed their hosts at the mouth of the Green Fork. Tywin Lannister had survived the battle and crossed the Trident, rumored to be making for Harrenhal. He would surely be ambushed by the rest of the Martell bannermen who had remained there.

Lord Marq Piper favored marching west to Casterly Rock and seizing the Lannister stronghold. Lord Jason Mallister suggested they rest their troops and seize Tywin’s supply line. Then Lord Jonos Bracken proposed they pledge fealty to Renly and spur south to join him, angering most of the lords in the hall.

“Renly is _not_ the king.” Robb said, speaking for the first time after listening to the bannermen.

“He’d be more of a damned king than Joffery is!” Lord Jason exclaimed. 

“Renly can’t be king before Stannis.” Robb replied. “Just as Bran cannot be Lord of Winterfell before me. Renly is not the true king.”

Then Ser Stevron Frey spoke, his voice as weasely as his appearance. “I say we make peace with the Lannisters and wait for Renly and Joffrey to kill the other over the throne. I’m sure Lord Tywin would welcome the truce and be grateful for the return of Ser Jaime.”

The northerners spat with outrage, calling Ser Stevron and his entire house cravens and other things.

“I will not make any peace or truce with the Lannisters, ser.” Robb said coldly. “They murdered my father.”

“Then what, Robb?” Lady Stark asked. Her face was drawn and her voice resigned. Her grief was a tenfold of that of the North. “They still have Sansa, to do what they will unto her."

“Unless we bend the knee to either Joffery or Renly, we shall be traitors to the realm,” Tytos Blackwood remarked. "And whichever prick we choose, we will _still_ be traitors to the realm!"

“Do you mean to declare us for Stannis then, my lord?” Lady Mormont asked. "By right, he is the one-true king."

“Even Storm’s End had forsaken Stannis in favor of Renly.” Rhaenys pointed out. “Why raise banners for a king who hasn’t even the support of his own birthplace?”

“Aye, Stannis hides away on Dragonstone like a child clinging to his mother’s skirts.” Rickard Karstark declared. 

“The Baratheons had done enough harm unto my family.” Robb said darkly. “Robert welcomed the death of my lady’s brother and called for hers. Cersei held my father to a lie and her son called for his head. They hold one of my sisters prisoner, perhaps still plotting to marry to her our father’s killer.”

Lord Greatjon Umber rose from his seat. “Here is what l say to these two kings!” He spat, and several lords began to chortle. “Those Baratheons mean nothing to me! So why should I allow for them to rule over me from their chairs of silk and flowers?”

Several began to murmur in agreement and the Greatjon nodded. “Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again? What do those southrons know of the Wall and the Wolfswood? What do they know of the North? What do they know of the ice and iron in our veins?” 

He drew out his great longsword and pointed it at Robb. “ _There_ sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to! _The King in the North_!” 

As Lord Umber knelt before Robb and others followed, drawing their steel. “The King in the North!” They all roared. Lady Mormont raised her mace and shouted “The King of Winter!” Theon and Jon unsheathed their swords as well, looking to the man they both proudly called their brother. “The King in the North!” Even the riverlords joined the chorus. “The King in the North!” 

Rhaenys could remember the boy who once caught a squirrel to let it loose in the sewing room so that she could have gone and played with him. The boy who wanted to search for the fabled dragon eggs within Winterfell’s crypts. The boy who had given her nothing but kindness. The boy she grew to love more than anything in the world.

The northerners now declared that boy their king. 

There was bewilderment in Robb’s eyes, where torment had been rooted. He glanced to his mother and then to Rhaenys.

Rhaenys didn't have to say anything; the men and women surrounding her had said it all. 

_”THE KING IN THE NORTH!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter seems short.


	22. crown and roses of bronze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the light of a red comet, a dark secret is revealed and crowns are forged.

“YOU MUST BE JOKING!” Edmure Tully shouted. In the Great Hall, he sat before Lady Stark, The Blackfish, Robb, and Rhaenys. Lady Stark had finally informed her brother of his betrothal to a Frey girl. Needless to say, he did not take it well.

“Yes, Edmure, I bargained with Walder Frey till evenfall all for a _jest_.” Lady Stark said dryly. Robb and Rhaenys exchanged looks. This was going to be a long council.

“You had no right sister! No right to sell me to Walder Frey’s brood!” Ser Edmure spat.

Lady Stark held her head high. “I had the every right, brother! We needed that crossing. Robb needed that crossing. His victory and Riverrun’s release were not possible without your viable betrothal!”

“You were _desperate_ Cat, and Walder Frey must have known that as soon as you were brought before him! I cannot believe you allowed him to take advantage of you!”

“No man took advantage of me, Edmure,” Lady Stark replied. Her blue eyes were flints of ice. 

Her brother snorted. “Say what you like, but I will not marry any witch sired by Walder Frey.”

“Very well then!” Lady Stark sighed. “You only need to go to The Twins and beg for Lord Frey’s forgiveness.”

“I am not going to kneel before a Frey and plead for his forgiveness!” Ser Edmure said indignantly.

"Edmure, you risk ending Robb’s alliance with the Freys, for the chance of a prettier wife,” Ser Brynden spoke. “As it is, no Lannister will be able to cross the Trident at Lord Frey’s crossing-- the safest crossing near the westerlands.”

“Uncle, Catelyn hadn’t the command to speak on my behalf!” Ser Edmure spat. 

“You were held captive by the Kingslayer and your father was unable to continue as ruling lord in his state.” Ser Brynden said. “You took a risk, went into battle, and left Riverrun, more or less, without a lord. Whose command was she to seek?”

Edmure looked furious, but The Blackfish continued. “Your sister did her duty to her father’s house, as a Tully.”

“House Tully and House Frey have remained unjoined for hundreds of years, and by the gods, I intend to keep it as such!”

\---

Riverrun’s dungeons were wall-to-wall with Lannister men, leaving Jaime Lannister to be left chained and caged outside in the stronghold’s courtyard. Robb commanded for such, to prevent Jaime from attempting to bribe and threaten his men. A fortnight after Robb was declared king, Rhaenys desired a word with the Lannister; a letter was sent to Lord Tully, from Stannis Baratheon; its words were nothing less than appalling... yet so many questions secured answers.

Out in the open, Jaime was left to men’s taunts, curses, and spit. Rhaenys thought he deserved even less than that. The man was truly pathetic, even more so with his matted golden hair, tattered clothing and chained collar around his neck. She asked a guardsman to the open the gate to Jaime’s prison.

“Ah there she is! The Queen in the North!” Jaime remarked, as Rhaenys stepped into the cage built just for the Kingslayer.

“Another reason to fear me then, ser?” Rhaenys scoffed, remembering what Jaime had told her, all those moons ago in Winterfell: _“now the little girl has grown into a women... more reason to fear you._ Now the little girl had grown into a queen.

Jaime chucked. “A rebel queen of a rebel king. The realm trembles.”

“Your _son_ may.” Rhaenys sneered.

Jaime’s playful smile fell from his face. He shifted slightly and his chains rattled. “Your dear king Robb gossips more so than a fishwife.”

“If such is merely gossip, then why did your son kill Ned Stark? Why did you and your sister kill Jon Arryn? Why throw Bran from a tower? Did _gossip_ frighten the lions so?”

Stannis Baratheon had written the unfathomable; Robert’s children were not born from his seed. All three of Cersei’s precious and golden children were sired by her beloved twin brother Jaime. King Joffery Baratheon was neither Baratheon nor king nor true-born; he was a bastard born from sin. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, girl.” Jaime retorted. “You may join your good-mother in the throes of widowhood soon enough.”

“Your golden tongue grows tarnished, ser.” Rhaenys replied, as Jaime’s insults grew feeble.

Jaime smirked. “How about you come closer and we’ll see how tarnished my tongue is?”

“How about I cut it out instead and send it to your sister?” Rhaenys hissed. “I’m sure _she_ shall miss it more than you will.”

“Oddly enough, Catelyn Stark had already offered to send my head to Cersei.” Jaime said, almost boredly. “Even threatened to kill me herself. You’ve both become real she-wolves as the years pass. ” He grunted and leaned his head against the post he was chained to. “I should have let Lorch run you through with his sword…would have saved myself the trouble.”

“Yet another deed you have to live with,” Rhaenys replied.

Jaime looked up at her. “I’ve been living with that one for eighteen years and it has chafed me more than this damned chain does.”

\---

The ancient crown of the Kings in the North was long lost, as the last king Torrhen Stark had relinquished it to Aegon the Conqueror nearly three hundred years ago. However, the smiths of Riverrun did well to match the description in the texts: an open circlet of hammered bronze, surmounted by nine black iron shaped like longswords. The Kings in the North wore no gold or silver or gems, for the true metals of winter were iron and bronze.

The crown Robb had made for Rhaenys was no less delicate. It too was a open circlet of bronze, crowned with nine slender pointed spikes of iron that lay on a circle of tiny winter roses of bronze. Robb placed it upon Rhaenys' brow himself, in full sight of the Great Hall and the northernlords.

“The Queen in the North!” they shouted and a blush crept across her cheeks. Her grandmother had been a queen. Her mother should have been a queen. Rhaenys was never meant be a queen. Robb smiled and kissed her between her eyes.

Yet, Robb must have only worn his own crown once, when he presented a parchment of his demands to his envoy to King’s Landing, Ser Cleos Fray. 

He was a man who had no desire to wear a crown; who could ask for a truer king?

\---

Rhaenys was certain she had seen the red comet before, a bleeding wound cut into the night sky. Its eerie light shown enough to rival the sun and outshine the moon. Many people had many reasons for the comet’s presence. Greatjon Umber said it was a flag of vengeance for Ned Stark, unfurled for the Lannisters to fear. Edmure Tully claimed it was an omen of victory for Riverrun, for the comet’s tail was as long as a fish’s. Brynden Tully saw nothing but blood spilt from nameless veins.

From the chambers she and Robb shared in Riverrun, Rhaenys watched the comet. _Bright as fire and red as blood_ , she thought. _Fire and blood; those have never been a good sign..._. Behind her, the wooden door opened and closed quietly. “It would seem that the comet has made a prophet out of everyone.” Robb remarked, joining Rhaenys at the window sill.

“I take you haven’t given it a thought?” Rhaenys asked. 

Robb shrugged. “I’ve been hearing tales of omens all damned day, both good and terrible. It has been confusing, honestly...”

Rhaenys sighed. “I wish I could have heard Old Nan’s explanation.” Their old nursemaid would have surely shared a bizarre yet wondrous tale with Bran and Rickon by now.

“As if the false prophets in Riverrun were’t enough.” Robb quipped.

“Oh Robb...you must spared it some heed.” Rhaenys said, hugging his arm. 

Robb relented. “From what I saw, the comet is neither Tully red or Lannister crimson.” 

“Ser Brynden said it was only blood.”

“Blood red against the black sky? My first thought was ‘that comet is meant for a Targaryen’.”

Rhaenys furrowed her brow. “...You’re a better king than seer, Robb.”

“Shame. I was thinking of yielding my crown to become a greenseer.”

Rhaenys giggled. Laughter had all but evaded her since Lord Stark died; and how wonderful it was to hear Robb jest again. He smiled and started to stroke her hair. “I forget…you share blood with Daenys the Dreamer.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be predicting any dooms.” Rhaenys replied. “The gift of second sight grew weak and thin as the dragons died.”

“We’ve no need for prophecy or omens or words made of smoke.” Robb said, kissing her hairline. Rhaenys agreed. What use were words of smoke? Smoke was useless, a mere consequence of fire. Comparing smoke to fire was no different form comparing a lizard to a dragon. Tired of the red comet and omens, Rhaenys tugged Robb closer to her, tangling her hands in his curls as he kissed her. Ere long, Robb was fumbling with the stays on Rhaenys' dress while she kissed his exposed neck.

\---

_“The dragon has three heads,” Rhaegar insisted yet again. They stood beneath a black and starless sky, their faces illuminated by the light of the red comet. “Why must you say that everytime we meet?” Rhaenys demanded. Rhaegar gestured to the comet. “You can see the only tail of the dragon, Rhaenys. Its heads have yet to be restored.”_

_“Yet?”_

_“Child, if you will fire upon the world then it shall happen.”_

_“You seem so certain,” Rhaenys sighed. Her father was mad after all._

_“My song for you was one of summer and winter, not of ice and fire. Had I mistaken girlish flesh for one of greyscale?” Rhaegar clenched his fists as his own flesh started to darken with frostbite. “Look to your north, girl.”_

_Rhaenys glanced up at the sky; the lonely comet had split into three, all twining with each other as they streaked across the sky. They held more grace and body than a mere tail of fire._

_“You are third of your kind, first of your name.” Rhaegar opined. “You’d be cursed before you forget that.”_

When Rhaenys awoke, the first thing she saw was the bleeding comet bright in the inky sky. She frowned and buried her face in Robb’s neck. 

\---

Tywin Lannister had made no attempts to try and take Harrenhal from the Martell bannermen; only then did Robb relent and assented to Rhaenys’ bid to spur to Harrenhal. She meant to meet with her uncle Oberyn and receive his and Doran’s acknowledgment of Robb’s rule of the north. 

Theon had already left for the Pyke, to negotiate an alliance with his father, Lord Balon Greyjoy, on Robb’s behalf. Lady Stark planned to travel south to Bitterbridge, to treat with King Renly Baratheon. Her idea was to present Tywin with a new threat before he spurred to his daughter and grandson in King’s Landing.

Robb had yet to receive the return of Ser Cleos Frey. He sent word of his demands to Cersei Lannister, including the return of Sansa and Joffery’s renouncement of all claims to rule over the north. If the Lannisters refused, then he planned to attack the westerlands; Robb got word of another Lannister host forming in the west, under command of Tywin’s good-brother, Ser Stafford Lannister. 

If it came to another battle, Rhaenys hoped Robb’s army would be flanked by Greyjoy and Martell men. 

Harrenhal was nearly a month’s ride but she did not want to take more than twenty men with her. Her company included her faithful swornsword Ser Arron Qorgyle, Lady Alysane Mormont, and a host of northernmen.

On the day of their journey, Lady Alysane presented Rhaenys with a finely made hauberk and cuirass. “Mail would serve a queen better than a crown, Your Grace.” She claimed, helping Rhaenys secure the armor and mail over her riding dress.

Bidding farewell once more to Robb was no less bittersweet and Rhaenys knew that would not ever change.

“Armor suits you, my love.” Robb remarked, as Rhaenys threw her arms around his neck. “Though, I pray it is never tested.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How i basically imagine Rhaenys' crown: http://c.directlyrics.com/img/upload/halsey-castle-video.jpg 
> 
> i swear, as soon as i saw that crown, i was like "yo now THAT'S a crown for the Queen in the North.
> 
> Also, Rhaenys' dress and chainmail in the last paragraph: http://costumes.narniaweb.com/pc_pevensiesfiles/sured3.jpg


	23. a queen at last (what elia should have been)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys reaches Harrenhal and reunites with her uncle and her ghosts.

_“And King Harren learned that thick walls and high towers are small use against dragons. For dragons fly…”_

Rhaenys couldn’t help but remember one of Old Nan’s tales, about how the castle become such a cursed and blackened place. Even in its decrepit state, the walls remained monstrous and the five crumbling towers still rose taller than fabled giants. Banners were hung along cracked walls and pillars; the Martell’s sun-and-spear and the Bolton’s flayed man.

Lady Shella Whent was as old as the ghost that were rumored to haunt her castle; she was the last of her living line. “Welcome to Harrenhal, Your Grace,” she said, her voice as thin as a wisp, as Rhaenys led her company to through the towering gate. “Thank you, Lady Whent, for hosting the Martell and Bolton bannermen.” Rhaenys replied, dismounting her mare. 

“They honor me, Your Grace.” Lady Whent wheezed. “Lord Bolton had ridden for Moat Cailin after the battle at the Green Fork. Prince Oberyn returned here to watch for Lannisters.”

“And the wounded, my lady?” Bolton and Oberyn were victorious at the Green Fork, but nearly two thousand men had died in battle and many were wounded. Robb was grieved when he heard about the northern and dornish casualties. 

“They rest in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths, Your Grace. All tended to as we speak. Gods know I have the room…”

Behind Lady Whent, Oberyn Martell strode out of the wood-and-iron door. He was still garbed for battle, wearing a pale red silk cloak and a shirt armored with overlapping discs of bright copper. The Red Viper, renowned for his venomous glare and tongue. Yet his eyes softened like snowmelt when he saw her. “Rhaenys!” He cried out. Rhaenys smiled, as she approached him and he embraced her tightly.

“Little sun,” Oberyn murmured into her hair. He broke away to look at her properly. “And a queen, at last.”

\---

Harrenhal was teeming with ghosts, both living and dead. Jaime Lannister was named to King Aerys’ Kingsguard within the walls. Lyanna Stark was crowned queen of love and beauty by Rhaegar Targaryen, after he passed over his own wife, Princess Elia…. 

The Hall of the Hundred Hearths had only about thirty-five hearths, but it was no less immense. Healers scurried around like quick-footed ferrets, tending to the bloodied and weary. Both northern and Dornish men were housed within the hall. Some recognized her as Prince Doran’s niece, others as Robb Stark’s wife. All knew that she was now Queen in the North and welcomed her as such. 

Oberyn took Rhaenys to the Widow’s Tower, where he usually held his councils. It was a spacious and airy room; in the center stood a massive longtable of oak. A large and worn map of Westeros rested on its surface.

Oberyn’s eldest daughters, Obara and Nymeria, were waiting for Rhaenys, both rushing to her as soon as their father walked into the room. Rhaenys hadn’t expected them so far north. “Where else would we be, cousin?” Obara asked. “The Lannisters started a war and we’ve the same intentions as every Dornishman--to avenge Elia and her son.”

“But it would seem that we’ve spurred to a bushfire and found an inferno.” Oberyn sighed. “Ever since the boy-king took Eddard Stark’s head off, every man now thinks himself a king.”

“Stannis Baratheon is riding to lay siege on Storm’s End.” Nymeria added. “He means to clash with his brother Renly.”

“Do you believe either of them the true-king?” Rhaenys asked.

“Seven hells! Of course not!” Nym exclaimed. “They shared blood and womb with the Usurper!”

“Robb Stark means to only rule the North.” Obara said. “But what of the rest of the realm?”

“The stags and lions can kill one another for the Iron Throne.” Rhaenys replied. “We only want our peace.”

“But does your husband believe Joffery would allow the realm to be divided?” Obara inquired.

“No.” Rhaenys admitted. “Robb sent an envoy to King’s Landing with demands, merely as a formality to Cersei and Joffery. He doubts any one of them would allow for his rule and means to assault the westerlands, regardless.”

“The Young Wolf wants vengeance for his father.” Oberyn said. “We cannot fault him. I only wished to have gifted you both with Tywin Lannister’s head.”

“We need to draw Tywin away from King’s Landing.” Rhaenys urged. “Lady Stark makes for the stormlands as we speak, to treat with Renly and create a new threat for the Lannisters.”

“Robert’s idiot brothers should distract Tywin for some time.” Oberyn agreed. “But then what, little sun? A Lannister bastard sits on the Iron Throne--are we to allow him?”

“What more uncle? You want to overthrow him?” Rhaenys asked, her brow furrowed. “A lovely idea, but a vacant throne would invite more trouble.”

“Rhaenys…” Nymeria sighed. “ Have _you_ not a claim, strong and true?”

Rhaenys looked incredulous. “Nym, did you not wear a helm when you to marched into battle?”

“But she is right, Rhae.” Obara asserted. “You’re The Last Dragon’s first-born, the blood of Queen Nymeria and Aegon the Conqueror-- you were born to rule!”

“I am the North’s queen--Robb’s queen.” Rhaenys hissed. “I will never forsake them for a damned and broken crown!”

“You rather allow Joffery to defile your birthright?” Obara asked.

“What is _birthright _to love?” Rhaenys demanded. “What good is my birthright when my family has been ripped apart?!”__

__“Love is sweet, Rhaenys.” Nymeria remarked. “But even that is not an oath swore to protect all we care about.”_ _

__“Love is _fire_ , Lady Nym.” Rhaenys said. “Love is wildfire in our skin and veins... only the cursed and the damned would dare to douse it.” She looked down at the map of Westeros, where tiny flags of red marked the known and possible positions of the Lannisters armies._ _

__“The lions and stags have taken enough from me. I’ll burn castle and continent to the ground if I must, so long as I can show them how it feels to lose all they love.”_ _

__Her cousins grew silent, not daring to speak against the ire and iron in Rhaenys’ voice._ _

__“Dear Rhaenys…you are as much Rhaegar’s daughter as you are Elia’s.” Oberyn said solemnly. Rhaenys couldn’t tell if he meant so in a kind light or in a grim shadow._ _

__\---_ _

__Rhaenys took her leave from the Widow’s Tower to return to the men in the The Hall of the Hundred Hearths. In the midst of bloodied bodies, a man was screaming. Upon her approach, Rhaenys recognized the pallid man as one of Lord Bolton’s. A pretty and grim faced olive-skined woman tended to him, with a large curved blade. “What happened to him?” Rhaenys asked, kneeling to the man’s side. At once, she saw his hand; raw, swollen, and green._ _

__“His hand.” The woman responded. “If it isn’t removed, infection will claim him.” The man started to writhe in refusal. “I yield my steel with that hand!” He pleaded._ _

__“Please.” Rhaenys soothed. “I remember you. You’ve got a wife back in the North, haven't you?”_ _

__“M-Marlla.” The man responded, a dim light showing in his eyes. “Round with c-child when I left her….it’ll be her t-third.”_ _

__“Wouldn’t you like to see her and your children once more? Safe at home?”_ _

__“A-Aye, Your Grace…” He shut his eyes tightly and clenched his good hand._ _

__“Thank you.” The healer murmured. “I need someone to hold him still while I--”_ _

__“Let me.” Rhaenys said. “And perhaps he ought to be have a gag, before he bites his tongue bloody.”_ _

__The healer hesitated. “Forgive me, but wouldn’t you prefer to not--”_ _

__“He fought for my husband.” Rhaenys said. “I don't mind his blood.”_ _

__The healer relented, tearing a cloth of bandage for the man clench his jaw upon. Rhaenys held the man down as the healer started to sunder his hand from his wrist. He screamed terribly into his gag. Once his diseased hand had left him, the healer tended to the raw and bleeding stump. Her’s and Rhaenys’ dresses were splattered red with the man’s blood._ _

__“Thank you,” she said, as the man drifted into a milk of the poppy induced sleep. “Where i’m from, noblewomen would’t dare be in the same room as the sick.”_ _

__“I’m his queen.” Rhaenys responded. “I’ve got a duty to him and his fellow men. It is just.”_ _

__“You’re a strange queen, one who wears armor and cares for the bloodied.”_ _

__Rhaenys smiled. “What is your name?”_ _

__“Talisa, Your Grace.”_ _

__\---_ _

__Days following her arrival, Rhaenys got word from Lady Whent that a man of the Night’s Watch and his thirty recruits were making for Harrenhal. Lady Whent was known for being a friend of the Night’s Watch and often hosted the Black Brothers in her stronghold. “They are boating from the Gods Eye, Your Grace... such be here before evenfall.” Lady Whent informed her._ _

__“From where are they arriving, my lady?”_ _

__“Ahh, King’s Landing, I believe….” Rhaenys heart sunk. _King’s Landing!_ Had they bore witness to Lord Stark’s murder? She left for the courtyard, where Oberyn’s men were preparing to travel west, to finally meet with Robb’s army. Obara was demonstrating her skills with a spear to Alysane. Ser Daemon Sand was close by, whetting his sword._ _

__“We’ve always had such little contact with the northerners,” he noted as Rhaenys sat next to him. “Now we fight with them and they take a dornishwoman for their queen…the gods are strange.”_ _

__“If strange is what allows us to survive, then let it so,” Rhaenys replied._ _

__“Whatever you say…Your Grace.” Daemon grinned. “ _Queen Rhaenys_ …you’ve pained the Lannisters so. I hope such wounds fester.”_ _

__“As long as I live, they will suffer,” Rhaenys said darkly. “All because Tywin Lannister failed to murder me.”_ _

__“Robb Stark won’t allow for your death. He’d raise his sword and bargain with the gods old and new before they take you before your time.” Daemon said, pausing from his honing. “They shall write songs about your love someday--the wolf who loved his dragon so.”_ _

__They both watched as Lady Whent, flanked by two of her knights, strode pass then, making for the gate. The Night Watch’s men must have finally reached Harrenhal._ _

__“I’ve never met a man from the Night’s Watch.” Daemon mused. “We have little reason to worry or care about The Wall--why surrender a lover’s bed for the embrace of ice?” He shook his head. “Madness….”_ _

__Lady Whent led a group of men and boys, all ragged and some wounded, to the castle. Some of the men were in chains; one of then caught Rhaenys’ attention, for his long hair was half-red and half-white. Trailing behind the group were a group of boys._ _

__But one of the boys looked familiar. Achingly familiar. Odd, since Rhaenys hasn’t step foot in King’s Landing since Lord Stark took her from there. Yet, she could not tear her eyes away from the brown-haired boy, mostly likely orphaned and tempted into joining the Night’s Watch with the promise of food and a warm bed. The lanky boy must have felt Rhaenys’ eyes burning into him, as he turned to look right at her._ _

__Then, Rhaenys saw the long face and Ned Stark’s grey eyes._ _

_“ARYA!”_ She shrieked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those last sentences tho. You're welcome.


	24. a she-wolf returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys is overjoyed at the return of her smallest good-sister.  
> But happiness is short-lived.

_“RHAENYS!”_ Arya screeched. She ran and hurled herself at her good-sister. Rhaenys caught and gripped her so tightly, as if someone was waiting in the shadows to tear Arya away. She pressed her cheek against Arya’s shorn and matted hair, rocking and crying as though a madness overtook her. Arya was not her sister by blood, but by the gods, sister she always will be. 

Arya was bawling. “They killed Father! They had Ice and _THEY KILLED HIM!_ ”

—

It was Yoren of the Night’s Watch who found Arya and spared her from the sight of her father losing his head. He meant to take her to Winterfell, but didn’t know that Rhaenys Stark was at Harrenhal. “She’s your problem now,” he grunted as Rhaenys thanked him. “But she’s better off in your hands.” Lady Whent was to feast him and the rest of the recruits, but Arya did not want to eat with the rest of them. 

Once Arya was bathed and clothed, she and Rhaenys took their supper in Rhaenys’ room. Between mouthfuls of bread and meat, Arya spoke of what happened in King’s Landing, before everything went horribly and terribly wrong. On the day of Lord Stark’s imprisonment, Lannister men came for her; but she knew her father would never have sent Cersei’s men to fetch her. So she ran from them, took what she could and fled the Red Keep, hiding in the streets and survived off of pigeons until Yoren found her. 

_Varys was telling the truth._ Rhaenys thought. _Arya did escape from Cersei’s men._

“Where’s Mother and Robb?” Arya asked, clutching her mug of sweet tea. 

“Your lady-mother rides south to treat with Renly Baratheon.” Rhaenys replied. “Robb means to attack the westerlands.” 

Gods knew where Tywin Lannister had disappeared. Rumors flew around like mayflies; some claim he went to siege Stannis’s stronghold of Dragonstone, others say he spurred to Highgarden to assail Renly’s allies. Sentries scoured the lands between Harrenhal and the crownlands day and night, hoping to block Tywin from King’s Landing. An assault on the westerlands and Casterly Rock should root Tywin from wherever he hid.

“Did Renly really make himself king?”Arya asked. “I asked Yoren, but he said the problems of the realm do not concern the Night’s Watch.”

“He did, crowned at Highgarden with his new wife.”

Arya looked puzzled. “He fled King’s Landing with Ser Loras Tyrell, right after King Robert died. I think he knew something about why Cersei called Father a traitor…”

“Arya, your father was named a traitor because he knew the truth.” Rhaenys said. “Joffery is not a true-born Baratheon.”

“WHAT?” Arya cried out, spilling tea on the table. “Not true-born? Is he a bastard?”

Arya was a girl of twelve yet Rhaenys had no thought or to spare her of why her father was murdered. “He was still mothered by Cersei, but he is Jaime Lannister’s bastard.”

Arya was so overtaken by shock, that she was smiling. “Joffery is _Cersei’s and Jaime’s_ monster!”

“Now Robert’s brothers fight to remove Joffery from the throne and your brother fights to win our peace.”

“….What will happen to Sansa?” Arya asked. 

“Once Robb takes the westerlands, Cersei may be frightened enough to return her.”

“Cersei doesn’t scare easily, Rhae.” Arya said quietly. “If you threaten her, she’ll only laugh at you.”

“Arya, everyone is afraid of something.” Rhaenys said grimly. “Just as anyone can be killed.”

—

Rhaenys did not have the heart to tell Arya was she was promised to be married someday. Days into her arrival, the girl was starting to smile freely, wandering and exploring the halls of Harrenhal with her skinny sword Needle.

“Where _did_ you get a sword, Arya?” Rhaenys asked curiously. Arya had arrived to Harrenhal with it, hanging on her belt. That day, they had ventured to Harrenhal’s enormous godswood. A terrible face with a twisted mouth and flaring eyes was carved upon a weirwood. Thirteen deep marks were also cut into it, from when Daemon Targaryen battled Aemond Targaryen during the Dance of the Dragons. 

“Jon.” Arya answered. “Before we left Winterfell. Father even hired a man, Syrio Forel, to teach me the Braavosi water dance.”

Lord Stark had given to Arya’s willfulness at last. The thought made Rhaenys smile sadly.

“Well, you have to show me what Syrio Forel taught you.” Rhaenys said. At once, Arya brightened like an evening star and fluidly drew her Needle and took a warrior’s stance.

“Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords,” she recited, while making graceful maneuvers with her sword. The fighting style suited her and her blade perfectly.

“Perhaps i’ll ask Nymeria and Obara to show you their sword skills.” Rhaenys mused. 

“Oh could you?!” Arya exclaimed, her old wild self returning.

Rhaenys smiled. “Dornish sword fighting is actually similar to the water dance, and it would be a shame to let your lessons to grow cold.”

—

Nine days after arriving to Harrenhal, Rhaenys had to say goodbye to her uncle. “We shall meet again, Queen Rhaenys.” Oberyn promised, kissing her forehead. “Gods be good, the westerlands shall be littered with blood and limb of the Lannister men.”

“So long as you and Robb return,” Rhaenys replied, her brown eyes sad.

“Neither of us would dream of failing you," Oberyn murmured. "I've failed your mother, little sun. I'll be damned before I allow the same unto you."

Oberyn had spared an additional forty men to watch over Harrenhal and Rhaenys, in addition to the garrison. Even Nymeria stayed behind to help guard her cousin. “You’re Queen in the North, Rhaenys, and we’ve yet to learn of Tywin’s whereabouts,” she explained darkly. “He’ll want you dead more than ever now.”

—

Not a day had passed without Rhaenys receiving word about a village being sacked. She implored the garrison commander to dispatch men to the towns, to rid the lands of the rapers and bandits . 

The men of the garrison were three days gone when sentries started to vanish. Disturbed, Lady Whent sent out three of her knights to search for them; none returned. 

Even Yoren relented, for the sake of Lady Whent, and took some of his recruits out to investigate. “Could be more raiders.” He said as Rhaenys and Arya watched him mount a horse. “We’ll give it a look.” One of the recruits, a black-haired youth called Gendry, snorted. “What bandits could best such well-trained men?”

“Pray they’d be bandit and nothing more.” Yoren grunted, as they rode out the gate. The sky was growing dark with storm clouds, slowly casting Harrenhal into blackness. Lady Alysane urged Rhaenys and Arya to return to Widow’s Tower. “If the Lannisters dared to come this way, they’ll get another taste of northern steel.”

Arya instead, found three companions from her journey, Hot Pie, Lommy Greenhands, and Weasel, and they waited in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths; Rhaenys did the same, flanked by Alysane and Nymeria. Talisa soon joined her, speaking of the wounded men’s fear. “Every one of them, they believe the Lannisters spur this way,” she whispered. “And they curse themselves for not being battle ready.”

“My uncle left forty men, to addition to the men Lord Bolton left behind. The wounded will live more days than the Lannisters could count.”

The agonizing wait ended quickly, when Gendry and three other men burst into the hall.

“Gendry!” Arya shouted, running to him. There was blood splattered on his pale face.

“Where are the others?” Rhaenys demanded. Yoren had taken twelve men with him, to scour the lands around Harrenhal.

“Dead!” Gendry stammered. “Including Yoren! All dead…”

“Who killed them?” Nymeria asked. 

“Gods, it was _one _man, more massive than any i’ve seen.” Gendry gulped. “I couldn’t see his face…he wore a helm.”__

__“Did he have a shield?” Arya asked. Gendry nodded. “M-must have been half his size. I couldn’t recognize the house…three black dogs on a yellow field.”_ _

__Arya’s face fell. “Gregor Clegane!”_ _

_The Mountain._

__Rhaenys clamped her hand over her mouth and every dornishman, wounded and not, looked to her._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. The next should be a killer.


	25. let the dragon be born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrenhal is taken hostage.

Rhaenys hurried over to where Arya stood and grasped her by the shoulders. “Arya, I need you to take your friends and _hide_.”

Arya looked incredulous. “I’m not leaving you!” She cried out stubbornly. 

Rhaenys bent down to Arya’s height and pleaded with her. “Please Arya! The Mountain does not take prisoners! You have to hide!”

Behind them, Ser Myles Manwoody and his men hurried out of the hall, followed by Lady Alysane and a group of northernmen.

“Listen to your queen, Arya.” Gendry said, his fear fleeing him. Arya threw her skinny arms around Rhaenys’ neck. “Don’t let him get you,” she begged.

“I won’t.”

Gendry led Arya and the boys away. Rhaenys turned to Talisa. “If any man can be moved, do so. I rather not leave them all here for easy slaughter.”

One of Ser Myles’ men returned to the hall. “Ser Lyonel Frey accompanies The Mountain. He wishes to speak with the Queen in the North...”

“Very well,” Rhaenys replied. 

Nymeria grasped her arm. “Rhaenys, you can’t!”

“I am Queen in the North, Lady Nym. I did not ask for such, just as Robb did not ask to be king.” She drew away from Nymeria. “But Gods know, the northerners did not make a craven woman their queen!” The fearlessness of the north was hers.

“Rhae--”

“If Tywin Lannister sent his men here because of me, if he endangers the men and women in this castle because of me, then I will not cower behind these walls.”

\----

Evenfall had yet to come, but the sky was angry with grey. Ser Lyonel Frey and The Mountain must have stormed the broken gate; fanned behind them were dozens of men, some holding banners of crimson and gold lions, along with grey and blue bridges. The men that had remained at Harrenhal were now outnumbered, as Rhaenys had sent the garrison commander and many of his men to clash with raiders.

Among the sleek armor-clad men were the northern prisoners taken from the Battle on the Green Fork, in tatters and chains. Rhaenys recognized many, including Robett Glover, Harrion Karstark, and Ser Wylis Manderly.

“Rhaenys Stark.” Ser Lyonel greeted. His mother was Genna Lannister, but he certainly retained none of the lion's look. Like his brother Cleos, he had a weak chin and brown hair he kept cropped close to his head. Unlike his brother, however, he seemed to have a bit more spine; there was callous look in his dull grey eyes. He dismounted his warhorse and strode towards her. If swords were not drawn before, they were now; the ringing echoed throughout the still yard. Ser Lyonel stopped quickly, a broad smile crossing his face. “Is this how you treat a guest, my lady?”

“This is how we treat our enemies, ser.” Rhaenys replied coldly. 

“My lady, we’ve--”

“ _Your Grace_.” Lady Alysane corrected. Ser Lyonel sly smile wavered. “I beg your pardon?”

“You are speaking to the Queen in the North, ser. Did your mother not teach you manners?”

“I was taught to not pander to traitors and rebels.” Ser Lyonel retorted. Next to him, The Mountain stirred and removed his helm. His large eyes were pale, pale blue and scars carved into his terrible face; the last face Elia Martell saw before she her skull was smashed.

“ _Your Grace_ , meet Ser Gregor Clegane.” Ser Lyonel said.

 _He was brought here to frighten me_. Rhaenys realized. “You did not come here to introduce me to your friends,” she said, averting her eyes from The Mountain.

“I’m only here to speak, Your Grace.” Ser Lyonel replied. “Your lord-husband has been giving Lord Tywin grief for moons.”

“His grandson took Eddard Stark’s head. Did you expect any less?”

“None expected Robb Stark to crown himself King in The North!” Ser Lyonel spat. “Nor did I expect to ride to this ruin and treat with his whore!” 

He unsheathed his longsword and yelled for one of the prisoners to be brought to him. One of Bolton’s men was brought forth and in a swift motion, Ser Lyonel drew his blade across his neck. Rhaenys bit the inside of her cheek, as she watched the man convulse on the ground, life bleeding from his neck. Outrage bellowed behind her.

“You are outnumbered and outsworded, Your Grace!” Ser Lyonel shouted. He jabbed the point of his blade to where the man had died at last. “Such is what will happen to every man and woman within that keep!”

Rhaenys glared at the Frey. “I will not fight you nor will I yield Harrenhal to you. Go back to Tywin Lannister and tell him that!”

“But _you_ are not the Lady of Harrenhal.” Ser Lyonel sneered. He glanced at Gregor Clegane. At once, The Mountain lunged forward and grabbed Rhaenys by her arm, knocking Ser Arron to the ground. She shrieked and her guard started for Lyonel's men, swords and spears out.

“BRING ME LADY WHENT!” Ser Lyonel roared. “She will decide the fate of your queen!” The Mountain held on to Rhaenys like a vice, his fingers digging into her dress and flesh. Only when he moved his stone grip to her neck did one of the dornishmen relent and hurried into the castle.

“Robb Stark means to take the westerlands!” Lyonel Frey spat, holding point of his sword to Rhaenys’ chest. ”I’ll return the favor by taking his heart!”

\---

Lady Shella Whent yielded Harrenhal to Lyonel Frey, after being threatened with the murders of Rhaenys and every person in the castle.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she called out frailly. “For there are enough ghosts within these walls…”

The one hundred northern prisoners were taken to the cells below the Widow’s Tower. Rhaenys herself was locked in a chamber within the Widow’s Tower, with two Lannister men standing sentry at the door. Rhaenys screeched and cursed, throwing her fists against the locked door until they bruised. Giving up at last, she sat at the longtable, burying her head in her hands. 

A fire hadn’t been lit. Darkness and cold overcame the room; but cold hadn’t bothered Rhaneys in years. So she sat in the in the dark, listening to the Frey and his men roar with laugher in some hall. Violence and slaughter by their hands had yet to take hold of Harrenhal.

When the door finally opened, Lyonel Frey walked in, followed by some of Harrenhal’s servants.

“Your Grace.” Lyonel greeted, as a serving girl started a fire and lit several candles; another laid the table for supper. “I am not a low-born bastard, Rhaenys Stark,” he continued. “And you are still a noblewoman.”

“You’ve locked me in a tower.” Rhaenys said, raising her eyebrow.

“I could have easily thrown you in the cells below and let my men take their turns with you.” Lyonel replied.

“Am I supposed to thank you?”

“I am wise enough to expect none from you.” Lyonel said, taking the chair at the other end of the table. A venison stew was brought in, along with freshly-baked bread and flagons of wine. A cupbearer filled Lyonel's cup, then Rhaenys’; she looked at Rhaenys from the corner of her grey eye.

_Arya!_

She told the girl to hide! Now she was acting as the Frey's cupbearer! 

Yet, Arya was much too clever to be caught so easily.

Lyonel emptied the goblet in little time. “I’ve been warring for months. War does make the wine taste bitter…” He eyed Rhaenys. “It’s not poisoned, girl. Poison is a woman’s weapon!”

Rhaenys sipped the wine; it tasted Dornish. The serving girls laddled out her stew and broke her bread. Rhaenys sipped again at her wine, looking over at Lyonel from the goblet’s rim. "Why did Tywin send you? I didn't think he held the _Freys_ so dear to his heart." 

"Lord Tywin has honored me--my mother's blood." Lyonel said. "My grandfather Walder so foolishly surrendered to Robb Stark's folly. I mean to redeem House Frey." 

“How long do you intend to keep me here?” Rhaenys asked.

“Until your lord-husband quits the westerlands and rushes to your rescue.” Lyonel replied, as if the answer was obvious.

“What of my men? And the wounded and their healers?” Rhaenys pressed again.

“I’ve grown tired of bloodshed. They will be left alone and the wounded tended to. So long as none of then give me trouble.”

Rhaenys had one last question. “And The Mountain?”

“Left to plunder a village. Boredom draws to him like flies to a carcass.”

“He is not a true knight.” Rhaenys said bitterly.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Lyonel asked, tearing apart his bread. “But what man could cause a realm to tremble so? The northerners tell tales of the monsters beyond the Wall; in the south, mothers scare their children with The Mountain That Rides.”

He gestured over for Arya to fill his cup. “Tell me, _my lady_ , does the Mountain scare you?”

Rhaenys held his gaze. “He does.”

Lyonel laughed. “Good. Most clever girls are.”

“Usually when a girl is afraid of something, a spider or a mouse, her first instinct is to scream.” Rhaenys said. “The second instinct is to kill it.”

Lyonel guffawed, his face growing rosy with wine and laughter. “Don’t tell me girl, _you_ want to _kill_ The Mountain?!”

“You forget who you're speaking to, ser.”

“I forget not! Every damned man, woman, and child know how The Mountain took your brother from his cradle and smashed his skull. Then he raped your mother bloody and crushed her head.”

“Yet, you ask me if I want to kill The Mountain…” 

“We are wagering that Robb Stark will spur here and attempt beat you to that wonderful privilege.” Lyonel said darkly. “The boy’s won three battles and he thinks himself a conqueror!”

“It’s better than three losses, ser.” Rhaenys remarked. 

Lyonel grunted. “His luck will near its end and he will join his father in Winterfell’s crypts.”

“Or perhaps he will send you back to Tywin Lannister in pieces.” Rhaenys spat. In the corner of her eye, Arya smirked; Ser Lyonel noticed.

“Girl, where are you from?” He demanded, gesturing for Arya to move closer to him. “The North?”

“….I am, ser.” Arya responded. Rhaenys felt her throat grow dry. If the Frey realized who Arya was, she’d be locked away or worse; sent back to Cersei in King’s Landing.

“Where _exactly_ , if I may ask?”

“Barrowton, ser.”

“Tell me, what do they say of Robb Stark in the North?” 

“They call him the Young Wolf.” Arya responded, her unyielding grey eyes like iron. “They say he rides into battle on the back of a giant direwolf. They say he can turn into a wolf himself when he wants. They say he can't be killed.”

Rhaenys stared outside the window, at the starless and moonless sky; her mouth curved into a faint smile.

“And do you believe them?”

“No, ser.” Arya replied. Ser Lyonel started to smile with satisfaction. Then Arya glanced at Rhaenys before returning her iron gaze to Ser Lyonel. 

“Anyone can be killed.”

Lyonel Frey's smile died quickly, his eyes flashed with unease. “Leave the flagon, girl, and get out.”

Arya gave Rhaenys one last glance before she took her leave.

“The northerners are loyal, Ser Lyonel.” Rhaenys said, as he poured himself more wine. “Loyal to their own. Loyal to their king.”

“Robb Stark is no king!” Ser Lyonel spat. 

\---

For days upon days, Harrenhal was held hostage by Lyonel Frey and Rhaenys was locked way in the Widow’s Tower. Arya remained as cupbearer, a perfect ghost, silently prowling the halls under a false identity. The garrison had returned but could only lay siege around the stronghold; nothing else would have been done without threatening Rhaenys' life. 

One day, Lyonel Frey stormed into Rhaenys’ prison, a letter crumpled in his fist. Robb had successfully invaded the westerlands a moon ago, having launched his first attack at Oxcross where Ser Stafford Lannister was raising his novice army. “Stafford dead, his men slaughtered!” He spat. “Now perfectly sound men are telling nursemaid tales of how Robb Stark turned into a fucking wolf and ripped men apart!”

Rhaenys glared at him from her chair. “You sound frightened, ser.”

He struck her with an open hand, leaving a red welt on her cheek. “Do not mock me!” He snarled. “I hear they call you a she-wolf but you are nothing more than a bitch sold to the North!”

But Rhaenys looked up at him, her dark eyes burning and a bruise blooming on her cheek. “Raise another hand to me again and you will be without it!” 

Ser Lyonel laughed, almost madly. “I will slaughter your wolf and deliver his corpse to your bed!” 

\---

Nights after, men started screaming and cursing. Rhaenys’ heart betided with dread, wondering if Lyonel Frey had started killing the northernmen and Dornishmen out of rage. “THEY’VE ESCAPED!” She heard them yell. Rhaenys crept to the door and pressed her ear against the wood; the heavy breathing of the sentries were absent. Something had happened….

Shortly after, the door opened.

“Gendry?” 

“Not here, Your Grace!” He urged breathlessly, pulling her along and into the dimly lit corridors. “What in the seven hells is happening?” Rhaenys hissed.

“I don’t know _how _she did it, but Arya freed the northerners from below this tower!”__

__“What?!” The two ran down the numerous spiraling stairs of the Widow’s Tower._ _

__“She came up to me, just before the sun fell. Asked me to help her. That man, Jaqen, was with her.”_ _

__They reached the foot of the stairs. Amidst the chaos of the freed prisoners, none seemed to noticed them._ _

__“As for everyone else, they took up steel and started to attack the Frey's men!” Gendry said. “Even the Essoi sellswords he hired had turned against him!”_ _

__He took Rhaenys to the Hall of the Hundred Hearths, guarded by Rorge and Biter, the frightening and former Night Watch’s recruits. At the sight of Rhaenys, murmurs and shouts overtook the hall._ _

___“Your Grace!”_ _ _

___“The Queen in the North!”_ _ _

___“Rhaenys!”_ _ _

__Talisa and Nymeria ran to her, the latter embracing her tightly. “Gods, Rhae!” After she broke away from her, Nym handed Rhaenys a leather dagger frog. “The Mountain has vanished, somewhere in the castle,” she said in a hushed voice. “Most of the northern prisoners had taken up arms and fight in your name.”_ _

__“Where's Lyonel Frey?” Rhaenys demanded, as Nymeria secured the frog around her waist._ _

__“The Dornishmen are keeping him busy.” Nym answered. “Little dragon, i’d tell you to run far from here but...”_ _

__“She knew you wouldn’t,” Talisa finished._ _

__“No, I would never.” Rhaenys agreed. She turned to Lady Nym._ _

__“I want Lyonel Frey brought to me, _alive_.” _ _

__\---_ _

__As soon as Nymeria left, Rhaenys silently withdrew from the hall, skillfully as a ghost. The hilt of her dagger rested against the small of her back. The halls were empty, as the clash took its form near the exterior of Harrenhal._ _

__She spotted the man called Jaqen, half red-haired and half white-haired. Rhaenys approached him but Arya was no where to be found. “Where’s Arya?” She demanded, moving her hand to the dagger’s hilt._ _

__“A girl holds vengeance in her heart,” he said, smiling slyly. “A girl wants to break a mountain.” Rhaenys grew uneasy as Jaqen chuckled. “The Red God will be pleased upon this night. I owe Him a name.”_ _

__“Whose name?”_ _

__“A name, Rhaenys Targaryen, that was never mine to take. Arya Stark has many names upon her lips. A girl is no different. Yet, I owe a girl nothing.”_ _

__“You waste breath.” Rhaenys scoffed. “I'll find Arya myself...”_ _

__Jaqen gracefully moved from her path. As she walked away, he called out._ _

__“Light your pyre, girl. Let a dragon be born.”_ _

__\---_ _

__Dawn was breaking, its light illuminating the corpses that were shrewn across the courtyard; some wore the golden-plated armor of the Lannisters, other the rags of the northern prisoners. Rhaenys lifted her eyes from the bodies just in time to see the point of a sword sticking through a Lannister man, before its yielder pulled it out. A small figure, wearing a hooded cloak, a skinny blade in hands._ _

__Arya’s name was stuck in Rhaenys’ throat, as the massive Gregor Clegane hurled himself at her._ _

__Pinned under The Mountain, Rhaenys tried to twist herself free. Gregor Clegane laughed, a terrible sound like heavy stones breaking. He wore no helm and his terrible face was only a breath away from hers._ _

__“Rhaenys!” Arya shrieked, the point of her Needle dripping with blood. Men shouted as well, the most furious being those of the Dornishmen._ _

__“Elia of Dorne!” The Mountain smiled cruelly. “I remember her! You look like her! I wonder if your bones will shatter as hers did when I took her!”_ _

__From the corner of her eye, Rhaenys saw Arya run at him, her sword pointed out. A spearsman caught her around her middle and pulled her away while she screamed. Men from all sides rushed to Gregor Clegane but he easily swept them off him with only one hand. All knew he wore the heaviest and thickest armor in the Seven Kingdoms and yielded a double-handed blade one handedly._ _

__Rhaenys’ hand was pinned under her back. She could almost touch the hilt of the dagger. She spat in Gregor Clegane’s face.__

__"I killed her screaming whelp! Then I raped her! Then I smashed her fucking head in!" Clegane roared, as he caught Ser Myles Manwoody in the stomach with his massive longsword. His fingertips pressed into Rhaenys’ neck, until her breath had all but left her._ _

__Rage and madness and fire and blood overcame her._ _

__When her fingers curled around the hilt, Rhaenys ripped the dagger from the sheath and drove it deep into Gregor Clegane’s eye. She pulled it out and he screamed, dropping his longsword and allowing Rhaenys wrench herself from under him._ _

__She remembered the tiny gyrfalcon she and Robb found in the snow all those years ago…. how it grew it be as large as any gyrfalcon, with a penchant for attacking larger beasts at their eyes..._ _

__Gregor Clegane had collapsed onto the ground, writhing and clutching his face. Knowing Nymeria, the daughter of the Red Viper, the dagger she gave Rhaenys was not only forged with steel._ _

__Rhaenys knelt beside The Mountain's head and drove the blade into his other eye._ _

__“ELIA MARTELL!” She snarled. “MY MOTHER. YOU RAPED HER. YOU MURDERED HER. YOU MURDERED MY BROTHER.” She twisted the hilt as the steel sank into his eye. He screamed and screamed, blood pouring from his eyes. With all her fury, her blood that burned for vengeance, and the final twist and wrench of the dagger, Gregor Clegane’s eye was torn from his head.__

__The hollow where his eye used to be was quickly pooling with blood. He feebly groped for his sword, his fingers finding only dirt and blood; his sight had left him. Rhaenys rose from her knees, her dress and dagger drenched with Gregor Clegane’s blood._ _

__The men who attempted to rush to Rhaenys’ aid looked to her now in reverence. With a clatter, Arya dropped her Needle and ran to Rhaenys._ _

__They watched as The Mountain writhed, his life bleeding from his eyes._ _

__\---_ _

__As commanded, Ser Lyonel Frey was brought to Rhaenys alive, dragged before her by Nymeria and Lady Alysane. When he saw the dead and gory form of Gregor Clegane, his skin went white._ _

__“Y-You killed the Mountain?” He sputtered._ _

__“I did say I wanted to.” Rhaenys replied._ _

__Lyonel Frey cursed her. “Vile sorcery! You’re just a girl!”_ _

__“I’m sure that’ll look wonderful on your report to Cersei Lannister,” Rhaenys retorted. “Her father’s mad-dog killed by a girl, her cousin beaten by a girl...”_ _

__Lyonel glared at her. “What are you talking about?”_ _

__“You will return to King’s Landing, take Gregor Clegane’s corpse and lay it before Joffery’s feet. You will tell him and his lady-mother that the North remembers, that Dorne remembers.”_ _

__“I’ll have your fucking head, dragonspawn!”_ _

__In the distance, a wolf howled; this creature sounded closer than the pack that roamed around Gods Eye. Ser Lyonel glanced around him, fear apparent on his pallid face. “Are you frightened, ser?” Arya taunted._ _

__“I fear nothing!” He roared; yet he trembled._ _

__The wolf howled again. Another one snarled. The Frey wrenched his arms from Nym’s and Alysane’s grip._ _

__"W-What is the meaning of this?!” He cried out, dropping to his knees. Then, his eyes widened with terror as a streak of dark grey flew past Rhaenys and Arya, and knocked him down._ _

__“Grey Wind!” Rhaenys cried, her voice as sweet as a song._ _

__The direwolf bared his teeth to the Frey's face while Nym and Alysane allowed him._ _

__Another wolf was with Grey Wind, smaller and a softer grey than he was but no less massive. _“NYMERIA!”_ Arya screamed as her long lost direwolf padded to her, now as big as she was. The she-wolf licked Arya’s face before joining her brother; both wolves poised over the Frey._ _

__Rhaenys noticed Grey Wind had bitten off one of Lyonel Frey's hands; the hand he had struck her with nights before. Lyonel clutched his bloody stump with his remaining hand, screaming to be taken to the cells, away from the accursed beasts..._ _

__Grey Wind padded up to Rhaenys and licked her bruised cheek. She wrapped her arms around the enormous wolf, pressing her face to his neck_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most satisfying thing I have ever written.
> 
> I just had to include what Arya said to Tywin in GOT, because I loved it so much. Also added Oberyn's lines because someone had to say it without DYING. #InigoMontoya 
> 
> Some of you were excited for this chapter. I hope it was what you expected.
> 
> EDIT: Many people pointed out that Kevan Lannister was very OOC so I switched him to Lyonel Frey. I safely assume that we all hate the Freys, so its a win-win situation.


	26. the wolves at harrenhal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys and Arya finally reunite with Robb.

But where was Robb? His direwolf had came to her, yet he was still strangely absent. Rhaenys would have certainly feared the worst had it not been for Grey Wind. She wasn’t sure how or if she was only fooling herself, but Grey Wind just _knew_. Ever since Robb took him for his pup, he just knew. If harm had found Robb, Grey Wind would have just known.

Days after Harrenhal was returned to Lady Whent and after Lyonel Frey was sent to King’s Landing with the Mountain’s corpse in a wagon, Rhaenys and Lady Nym wandered to the bear pit; walled in stone, floored with sand, and encircled by six tiers of marble benches. Lady Whent said men were pitted against bears while spectators watched and wagered.

There had not been any bears in the pit for years. Today, there was Nymeria the direwolf, happily chasing Arya and her companions around and around. 

“It’s nice to see children at play once more,” Nym mused. “All I have seen these past moons was death.”

They sat at a marble bench, with Grey Wind standing with them; he watched his sister play as well, yet made no movements to join them as he might have done once. He had tasted the blood of men, ripped flesh and limbs away; what was play to such a creature?

“It’s like finding flowers in the snow.” Rhaenys said. 

Nym snorted. “The _snow_ ? Years ago, you would have named the desert.”

“Years ago.” Rhaenys repeated, smiling knowingly at her cousin.

Nym shook her head. “Forgive me, little dragon, I forget a wolf pup grows in your belly.”

At once, Rhaenys moved her hand to the soft swell that had started to gently show through her dress. She only realized it days after her ordeal, after Harrenhal was taken, after being locked in a tower, after killing the Mountain… 

And she was afraid, wondering if the last few moons had done any harm unto her baby. Back in Winterfell, she had only lived carefully; yet teeth still found her womb. 

Grey Wind started to sniff her, before gently nosing her belly. He sighed and settled down on the marble floor, looking placid. Rhaenys immediately felt heartened.

Lady Nym watched as Nymeria the direwolf jumped onto Arya, her tail lashing from side to side. “I didn’t think Nymeria of the Rhoyne would have been the namesake of a _wolf_ ,” she said, amusement in her voice.

“Arya adores the stories of Queen Nymeria," Rhaenys explained. "And you _can_ see Nymeria’s star in the north, you know. Burning bright with ten thousand ships behind her. ”

“Good,” Nym replied. “No bearer of her blood should be without the sight of her star.”

A guard entered the bear pit, noding respectfully as he announced the impending arrival of King Robb Stark.

—

Men streamed into the courtyard, less than Rhaenys would have expected. Some carried Stark banners, others Bolton. Fronting the retinue was Robb, his armor blackened from moons of warfare. Arya couldn’t delay, a watery smile crossing her face, as she ran to her brother. Robb unhorsed his destrier at once, kneeling down to catch Arya as she threw herself at him. They spoke in low voices, sharing words of grief and affection. 

When Robb came to Rhaenys, he lifted her from her feet before they kissed, murmuring her name. They had been apart for so long– the longest they had ever been. 

Somewhere in between their kiss, Rhaenys guided his hand to her swelling belly. 

—

Robb said Rhaenys had a gentle heart– when they found a little gyrfalcon in the snow, broken-winged and crying for the mother that would never come. _“Gift it mercy,”_ Theon had suggested. Rhaenys ignored him and took the bird to Maester Luwin, asking him to show her how to heal it. The bird did heal, in time, growing trusting of Rhaenys and worthy of its namesake, Silverwing.

Now, in the Kingspyre Tower, Robb listened as men spoke of how gentle-hearted Rhaenys killed the Mountain.

Rhaenys was sat next to Robb, her hand in his, as violent memories resurfaced to match their words. She didn’t think much on it after it happened. Truthfully, the rage Rhaenys felt before she had plunged the dagger into the monster’s eye terrified her more than anything.

She was the dragon’s blood after all.

Along the longtable, men murmured. Some in awe, that the Queen in the North had slain one of the most terrifying man in all of Westeros; others in disbelief, that a woman was capable of the such feat.

“You doubt me, my lords?” Rhaenys asked, growing exasperated.

“Never, Your Grace.” Lord Bolton said. “To think Gregor Clegane dead at last and by your hand…”

“I did what any man would have,” Rhaenys retorted. “Only _I_ succeeded.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Bolton replied, his voice softer than spider webs. After Green Fork, he had left for the Twins, taking one of Lord Frey’s granddaughters for a wife and further securing their alliance with the Freys. Rhaenys only wondered why Bolton did agree to such a thing, after all the marriages that were promised to Walder Frey’s brood.

“The Mountain is dead.” Robb said, looking to Rhaenys and squeezing her hand gently. “And on his way to Joffery’s throne room. If the Lannisters think this all game, then perhaps a dead pawn will remind them otherwise.”

The battle at Oxcross had been more of a rout than anything; the Lannister was training an army of greenboys, most of them now dead. After receiving word of Frey’s seizure of Harrenhal, Robb had spurred east, leaving behind Oberyn Martell, Galbart Glover, Rickard Karstark, Maege Mormont, Greatjon Umber and Jon Snow to continue the assault on the westerlands.

“I heard you were Lyonel Frey’s hostage,” Robb said. “And that Gregor Clegane had accompanied him. I couldn't remain in the westerlands knowing that.”

“He meant to root you from the westerlands, away from Casterly Rock.” Rhaenys said. 

“I know,” Robb replied. “Lord Umber must have warned me a hundred times… but I would have given Lyonel Frey a fate far worse than death, had I met him.”

“Well your wolf did just as well, Your Grace.” Ser Wylis Manderly chuckled.

“I would have taken off more than just his hand,” Robb said darkly.

Rhaenys furrowed her brow and looked to Robb curiously; no one, not even herself, told him that Grey Wind had bitten Lyonel Frey's hand away.

—

In the halls there were whispers. Not from ghosts, but from men. 

Rhaenys had gone to the Hall of the Hundred Hearths and thought to find Robb afterwards. He continued to hold council in the Kingspyre Tower, plotting their next move. She did find Robb in a drafty corridor; along with Roose Bolton. The latter was known in the North for speaking ever so softly; now there was urgency in the voice as he spoke to Robb. Rhaenys felt a chill run through her as Lord Bolton whispered her name.

“Men greater than the both of us were felled by Gregor Clegane… how did Rhaenys triumph where better men have failed?”

She pressed her back against a stone pillar, her heart battering in her chest.

“She drove a dagger in his eye, Lord Bolton.” Robb replied, his voice cold. “He wore no helm and she sought no glory.”

“I meant no offense, Your Grace–”

“Then don’t speak of my wife as if she were a witch!” 

“But she is a _Targaryen_ , Your Grace.” Lord Bolton replied. “They say every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin– greatness on one side, madness on the other.”

“Are you suggesting that Rhaenys is mad?! Because she _defended_ herself?!” Robb spat.

“Ser Jared Frey told me what others had omitted– that Her Grace was screaming for her mother and brother while she ripped out Clegane’s eye.” Lord Bolton’s voice sounded callous.

“Gregor Clegane slaughtered Elia Martell and Aegon Targaryen!” Robb retorted. “The fury of the seven hells was rightfully Rhaenys’.”

“As you say, Your Grace, but I would heed her dragon blood before it entices further trouble.”

“Lord Bolton, you are speaking of your queen and my wife!” Robb said. “It would be better if you remembered that!”

Rhaenys watched as Lord Bolton dipped his head respectfully before striding away. Did he really think her mad because _she_ killed Gregor Clegane? She would have shared the same fate as her mother if she did not…

_“Rhaenys!”_

She jumped slightly, having been startled and discovered by Robb. 

“Did…did you hear all of that?” He asked wearily.

“I did,” Rhaenys admitted.

Robb sighed, taking her hand. “Think nothing of it. You’re not mad, my love. I know you aren’t.”

“Lord Bolton seems to think otherwise,” she snorted. "I wonder what else he thinks of me…"

“Truthfully, I never liked him,” Robb admitted. “Every time I look at him, I always think of that room in the Dreadfort where the Boltons hang the skins of their enemies.”

“I thought that was one of Old Nan’s tales.”

“Tales usually originate from some truth,” Robb replied. “But let’s hope it was only ever a tale to scare northern children.” He kissed the top of her head. “You should rest,” he fretted. Rhaenys had absentmindedly moved her hand to her belly; Robb placed his hand over hers. 

“I will,” Rhaenys promised. “Only... I wanted to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“How did you know Grey Wind bit Lyonel Frey’s hand off? No one else in your retinue knew and no one else at Harrenhal had spoke of it before you called for council...”

Earlier, Robb explained that him and his men had been four days from Harrenhal when Grey Wind suddenly withdrew from group. No one could have explained it and all attested that the direwolf had vanished when they woke. 

Now Robb seemed reticent.

“Robb…” Rhaenys urged. Robb wasn't one for keeping secrets from her.

“…On the night he vanished, I dreamt of Grey Wind entering the gates of Harrenhal,” Robb admitted. “I saw him attacking Lyonel Frey and wresting his hand off.”

“Which hand?”

“His right hand. It was only a dream yet I took it for truth--"

“Robb, it is true…” Rhaenys said quietly.

Robb started at her. “What?”

“Truly.” She insisted. “Ask any person in this castle. Lady Alysane took the hand and tied it to the Frey’s belt before he was sent off to King's Landing.”

They both looked to each other, wordless and bemused. The gods certainly had their strange jests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. Writer's block got me good. Hopefully, the next chapter will be better.
> 
> Also, Lord Bolton is a dick but we all knew that already.


	27. all men must die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrenhal is left far behind, as the winds change and nothing is certain.

When they had finished, Robb gently moved himself from on top Rhaenys. Weariness found Rhaenys more easily these days, but did nothing to stay her urge of bedding her husband; especially after being from him for so long. Proof of her insatiability blossomed on Robb’s collarbone and neck. She nestled against the crook of her wolf's neck. “My Rhaenys,” he murmured into her hair while caressing the small of her back. She whimpered, her skin still tender and afire from their coupling. Robb’s brow furrowed. “Have I hurt you?” 

“You could never hurt me,” Rhaenys breathed. She skimmed her fingertips along the soft pink blooms that she had made on his skin. Robb smiled at her, taking her hand from his shoulder and kissing each finger in turn.

“The northerners may have made you their king, but you are still mine,” Rhaenys said sweetly.

“Until the end of my days,” Robb promised, giving her last digit a kiss before kissing her forehead. “And beyond my days.” 

It was one of those rare occurrences where Rhaenys wanted to be sinfully selfish. To take Robb and run far away from the war, their crowns, their enemies; to make certain that harm would never find and claim him with its hungry jaws. _Let foolish dreams remain dreams,_ she thought to herself. _Robb did not wed a coward and his children will not be bore by a coward._ Rhaenys moved her hand to her swollen belly. She felt the baby grow strong in her womb; no teeth would take it from her.

"How's our little prince or princess?" Robb asked.

"Maybe we'll have one of each," Rhaenys replied mischievously.

Robb chuckled. "Don't be greedy, Rhae." His smiled faded, as an unspoken thought crossed his mind. "…I was hoping you’d be back in Winterfell before you bore your baby.” 

He looked ashamed, as if he had disappointed Rhaenys' for not seeing to the war’s end, for allowing his child to be born into a bloodied and broken land.

Rhaenys propped herself up on one elbow, to face Robb properly. “Be it Winterfell or Riverrun or along the side of a road-- so long as we have our child. Our Elia or Eddard." She kissed him and he returned the fervency, tangling his fingers in her black hair. 

—

On the morning they finally left Harrenhal, Rhaenys’ cuirass could have no longer fit her. Rather than being annoyed, she was delighted; by the time they reached Riverrun, she’d be four moons heavy with her child. The baby that should have been her first was gone at the second moon. 

“Seems more of a hassle,” Arya claimed. She watched as Robb lifted Rhaenys’ onto Stormy’s saddle. “And uncomfortable.”

Rhaenys smiled yet guilt pricked at her. She had neither heart or words to tell Arya about her betrothal to Walder Frey’s grandson; that Arya’s vocal wishes of never marrying and bearing children were forfeit at last. Upon his arrival to Harrenhal, Robb offered to tell Arya himself but Rhaenys begged him to delay, to wait until they returned to Riverrun. “Arya will need her lady-mother to console her.” Rhaenys said, recalling her own motherless and bitter days after Doran spoke of her own betrothal.

“I was hoping my babe would have a kinder aunt,” Rhaenys finally said.

“I shall be kind!” Arya exclaimed. “Once its in a cradle and not giving you a bother.”

Rhaenys smiled, in spite of herself. “I’m not bothered Arya!” 

The girl shrugged. “Can I say goodbye to my friends now?”

Her friends. The misfit of boys who were once fated for the Night’s Watch. Rhaenys wasn’t sure what was to happen to them; Lady Whent offered to keep them until she feasted more recruiters, mentioning that she dearly missed the sound of children clamoring through the halls.

“Of course,” Rhaenys responded and Arya bolted away at once, her direwolf at her heels. “But be quick about it!”

Robb reached up to take Rhaenys’ hand. “All right, Rhae?”

She nodded, as Lady Nym walked over to them. “Taking my cousin away from me again, are you?” Nymeria asked, her voice light and teasing.

“This woman had taken my heart; what else can I do?” Robb replied. 

Rhaenys shook her head mockingly as Nymeria chuckled. “The Martell bannermen are yours, Your Grace. We shall continue to guard the castle with Lord Bolton as we await our men’s return.”

“You have the gratitude of myself and the North, Lady Nym.”

Rhaenys was glad Lord Bolton was charged with guarding Harrenhal and the eastern roads between them and King’s Landing. He gave her his farewell, kissing her hand and praying for her safety; his grey eyes were perfectly keeping his suspicions of her at bay. Rhaenys wondered if such was the reason why Robb ordered Roose Bolton to stay behind; to keep him away from her.

—

Months of war had ravaged the riverlands. The splendid green of the fields had been stampled and blackened to what was akin to a desert. The birds had long fled the leafless trees, leaving only the crows and vultures to watch the lands. Burnt undergrowth continued to smolder, casting grey smoke into the now darkening sky. At the very start of the war, the Lannisters had burned fields and forests to starve villagers and northerners out. 

The riverlands were considered the most fertile and beautiful lands of Westeros. Now they were _once considered_.

“Sad,” Ser Brynden Tully muttered, as Robb’s retinue traced a path through the scorched grass. 

“Had most of the riverfolk left the lands?” Rhaenys asked, slowing Stormy to match Ser Brynden’s steed. Arya slowed as well.

“All if not most, Your Grace,” he replied. “Fleeing to the gates of King’s Landing, hoping Joffery would take pity on their plight.”

“But this is all Joffery’s fault!” Arya exclaimed. 

“Yet, what more can they do?” Ser Brynden’s brow furrowed. “Who suffers more during war than the innocent?” 

He pardoned himself, riding ahead to join the outriders. The lands had started to grow more and more desolate. Bandits and raiders could have been lurking anywhere.

Arya looked miserable. “Who was more innocent than Father?”

“The gods old and new could scour the world and never find a man with more innocence and honor.” Rhaenys said. “And they will punish those who dared to spill his blood.”

“Then why didn’t they kill Joffery and Cersei where they stood?” Arya demanded. “Why wait until my father was dead?”

“The gods don’t kill on our behalf, Arya.”

“So we kill on theirs.” It was not a question.

Rhaenys hesitated. Arya was a girl of twelve. A girl who had watched the blood of men flow before her moonblood even came. She had already killed a man, before Rhaenys’ eyes. Gods know what else had happened between King’s Landing and Harrenhal. What had war and loss made Arya Stark into?

Rhaenys lowered to voice so only Arya could hear her pleads. “Arya, please, you have to–”

“I don’t care Rhaenys,” Arya retorted. “They took Father. They have Sansa. They tried to take Bran. They nearly took you. They’re trying to take Robb. _Valar Morghulis_.” 

_All men must die._

Arya gave Rhaenys a final iron look before spurring ahead of her. _War is harrowing._ Rhaenys thought to herself. _Did I not want to slaughter every Lannister at years younger than twelve? I was no different and really, nothing had changed._ She wanted the lions dead and rotting more than anything. Who was she to fault Arya?

—

Only the lands surrounding Riverrun were left relatively untouched, even after Jaime Lannister’s siege. Arya clambered to the front of their boat, eager to see her mother’s castle. Along the river way, Tully guards stood, helmed and armed, bending the knee as the boat passed them and greeting the King and Queen In The North.

When they had landed at a wooden dock, Robb helped Rhaenys from the boat, then Arya. Lord Edmure Tully came out to greet them. “Welcome back to Riverrun, Your Grace.” His brow furrowed, surprised at the sight of Arya. “Oh, thank the gods. You found her!”

“She found us, really.” Robb said, mussing his sister’s hair.

“Hello Uncle,” Arya said, as Nymeria nearly knocked her into the water after leaping from the boat.

“Your mother will be overjoyed once she returns,” Edmure sighed. “Perhaps restore her heart.”

“My mother has not returned?” Robb asked, concern crossing his face. She was meant to return before they had.

“I’m afraid not,” Edmure replied. “I’ve only gotten back from Stone Mill myself. Trouble in Bitterbridge and Storm’s End has delayed her." 

“What sort of trouble?” Rhaenys asked.

“The death of Renly Baratheon.”

—

Edmure Tully had returned from Stone Mill only days before, victorious in a defense of the crossing against Lannister men. In Riverrun’s Great Hall, the relayed the details of his victory to Robb, Rhaenys and his uncle Brynden.

The problem with Lord Edmure’s proud victory was that it had ruined the crux of Robb’s plan.

“Tywin Lannister was _meant_ to cross the Red Fork!” Robb said, growing angry. “He would have been trapped and ambushed in the Westerlands!”

Edmure’s face reddened with embarrassment and annoyance. “Tywin knows we have his son in Riverrun! What would have stopped him from storming my father’s gates to retrieve him!?”

“You’ve enough forces to defend your keep!”

“Riverrun and its people still bear the last siege’s wounds. I thought to spare them all from another,” Lord Edmure retorted. “ _Then_ I hear Tywin had sent his lapdogs to Harrenhal to draw you from the west _and_ he succeeded!”

“Lyonel Frey held my wife hostage in the same castle where Gregor Clegane roamed!” Robb said indignantly. 

"Tywin only wants to meet _you_ in battle! Not your lords or your bastard brother!"

Ser Brynden sighed heavily. “None of that matters now! With Renly dead, Stannis would mean to take Joffery’s throne and be done with it. I'll wager all the gold in Westeros that Tywin will now spur to King's Landing to aid his grandson."

Word of Renly Baratheon’s death had troubled many; all believe he was slain by his own brother Stannis, on the eve of what was supposed to be a battle between the two men. 

“Are we to aid a kinslayer, then?” Lord Edmure snorted. “ _Perhaps_ win his favor and _maybe_ he’ll allow us our peace?”

“My men have been laying assault to the Westerlands for months,” Robb said. “We will await theirs and my mother’s return. I have no plan to ally with Stannis Baratheon.”

“If Stannis does overthrows Joffery, he will want the North, Robb.” Rhaenys said. “What then?”

“A battle and victory at King’s Landing will surely leave Stannis with more dead men than he’s ever counted.” Robb replied. “So long as he allows the North to secede, i’m willing to make peace with him and spare him further greivence.” His expression drew dark. "But if Stannis wants to continue and bleed himself and his bannermen dry, then so be it! But I will never have the North fall back into a crown of treachery."

—

As soon as Rhaenys stepped outside in the courtyard, Jaime Lannister had been leering at her. 

Had Robb accompanied her rather than Lady Alysane, he would have surely gouge the Lannister’s eyes from his skull and finally be done with him. Both women glared at him disparagingly. Even from the distance, they would see how pathetic and worn the past moons had made him.

“Had the good queen Rhaenys killed the Mountain?” Jaime called out, his voice strong in spite of his appearance and circumstance. “Or had the fishwife tales addle my mind?”

“I really must apologise to the men and women of Riverrun.” Rhaenys said. “For leaving them with such a nuisance.”

She left Alysane and walked over to Jaime’s cage to look into his eyes, to watch what light they would shine with after she affirmed the hearsay. He looked even worse up close, lesser than a shadow and his skin bruised from the irons. His golden hair was matted and brown, his emerald eyes startling against his filthy face.

“I did kill Gregor Clegane,” Rhaenys said carefully. “Drove a dagger right through his damned eyes…even gouged one out. Shame it wasn’t his heart but what more could I have done?”

Jaime Lannister started at her, with a mix of amusement yet intrigue. “A remarkable turn of events,” he said. “You’ve avenged your mother and brother. Perhaps you and Dorne can sleep easy now.”

“Your father gave the order, to have myself and my family killed.” Rhaenys reminded him. 

“Oh I supposed you want to kill him as well?” Jaime sighed. “Vengeance is an aimless wheel. It will keep turning and gods know where you’ll find yourself.”

“Blood demands blood, Ser Jaime. And vengeance is what urges this war.”

Jaime snorted. “You’re a lethal thing, aren’t you? Tell me, what will your baby take from your tits? Milk or blood?”

“Honestly, i’m surprised the rivermen haven’t sewn your mouth shut."

Jaime laughed, low and forged. “They would all dearly miss my rendition of The Rains of Castamere.” He looked up at Rhaenys with a contemptuous look. “Do you know what caused such a song to be penned?”

“The fall of House Reyne of Castamere.” 

“Not fall– _destruction_ ,” he corrected her. ”By the will of my lord-father. Gods, I must have heard that song more so than I have my mother’s voice.”

“I promise you, ser, no more songs will be written for your father.”

“Pains me to hear. That idiot Rymund the Rhymer arrived from Stonemill, singing of a “Wolf in the Night”. Edmure Tully did so kindly and had him sing it for my enjoyment. Had I a sword, I would have fallen on it.”

And when Rhaenys started to walk away from the Lannister, he began to hum a slow and mournful tune; it could have only been The Rains of Castamere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, writer's block has been so bad.
> 
> Also, yes the timeline is sped up. The Battle at the Red Fork happens months later but i don't want this to drag on more than it ought to.


	28. the knight and the priest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two men arrive at Riverrun, both claiming to have known Rhaenys when she was a Princess of the House Targaryen.

Fog had rolled in, eerie against the grey morning and still waters. Coupled with the rawness of the air, Rhaenys could've so easily imagine that she was back in Winterfell. She stood at the edge of a dock, watching nothing except the gentle brume over the river. Grey Wind kept watch with her, his ears pricking up at the slightest of sounds. The wolf loved her, nearly as much as Robb did. He was Robb’s protective and still gaze. After Harrenhal, Rhaenys no longer took this for happenstance. 

Behind them, she heard the sound of boots on wood, accompanied by heavier steps. 

“Why are you standing out here?” Arya yawned. “You can’t even see anything.”

Rhaenys glanced at her good-sister. Arya had returned to dresses and fine cloaks; even her shorn hair had started to grow back. Yet and yet, the rime of House Stark had started to settle into her young years. Along with something else…

“I can see plenty.”

“Loads of fog, maybe,” Arya snorted, stroking Nymeria’s neck.

“Don’t you have studies to attend to?” Rhaenys asked. From his bedside, Lord Tully had insisted that his granddaughter return to sums, histories, and needlepoint. Rhaenys knew very well that the only needlework Arya was interested in was the blade of her skinny steel.

“Yes but if I tell the septa I was with the queen, she wouldn’t get cross with me.” 

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow as Arya grinned innocently at her. She couldn’t help but smile herself. “Well, a princess ought to welcome her books graciously.” 

“Why does everyone call me ‘princess?!’” Arya demanded, her smile faltering. She became a princess long before Harrenhal, the title unknowingly falling to her upon Robb’s crowning. The Stark children were all now Princesses and Princes in the North. But Arya hated the thought of being a lady; a princess was a far different cry.

“Because you are one?”

“Rhaenys, that’s insulting.”

“Forgive me, Princess. I didn’t mean to insult you” Rhaenys teased. 

“Stop it,” Arya scowled, as she scuffed the heel of her boot against the wood of the dock. 

“Princess or not, you’re still Arya Stark of Winterfell. No one could ever take that from you.” Gods know, they’ve taken enough from Arya.

Rhaenys turned her head just in time to see the Tully guardsman. “Your Grace!” He called out, urgency in his voice. “You are needed in the Great Hall.”

—

Two men they were, mismatched and travel worn. One was loose-skinned and dressed in faded red robes, his hair nearly completely grey. The other was garbed in boiled leathers and a brown traveler's cloak; he was older and white-haired, yet his stance made him appear stronger than his years. They stood before the raised platform where Robb, Edmure Tully, and Brynden The Blackfish sat. As Rhaenys approached the platform, she saw the bare steel of Robb’s sword resting on his knee; an unapologetic act of hostility.

The hall was so still with enmity that Rhaenys didn’t dare disturb it with her questions. As soon as she was seated next to Robb, Edmure Tully cleared his throat, looking to the white-haired man.

“Ser Barristan, you had requested the queen’s presence– now can you return the favor and _explain yourselves ___?”

_Ser Barristan?_ Bran once named him the greatest living knight in Westeros. Even the knightless northerners spoke of his skill and bravery. A man forged from true steel, his vows sworn before Ser Gerold Hightower and his whitecloak draped upon him by King Jaehaerys Targaryen. 

“Of course, my lord,” Barristan Selmy replied, dipping his head in respect. He looked to Rhaenys, a look of relief in his blue eyes. “Rhaenys Targaryen…you were a child the last I saw you.” 

“You knew me as a child?” Rhaenys asked, growing uneasy. 

“I did, Your Grace. As did my companion,” He said, indicating the grey-haired man. “I remember when your father first brought you to court in King’s Landing. A tiny thing, already your mother’s mirror." 

“Most of the men who knew me as a child wanted me dead, at some time or another.” 

“Such is what I said,” Robb said darkly. “Yet Ser Brynden allowed them into this castle.” 

“Your Grace, had I the slightest thought that your queen would be endangered by these men, I would have killed them where they stood.” Ser Brynden said, concealing his anger quite well. “I’m certain you know–Barristan Selmy is one of the most respected knights in the Seven Kingdoms, if not the only.” 

“Your words honor me, Ser Brynden,” Ser Barristan said. “Yet, I hate to be considered the _only_ respectful knight in this realm.” 

“I’ve seen too many men begrime their vows and their cloaks,” Ser Brynden replied. 

“Which begs the question, Ser Barristan– what happened to _your_ whitecloak?” Ser Edmure interjected. “Were you not Lord Commander of Joffery’s Kingsguard?” 

A look of anger crossed Ser Barristan’s face, no different from the look the northerners and rivermen and Dornishmen had whenever Joffery was mentioned. 

“The boy-king dismissed me, on the pretense of old age and dulling wits!” He spat. “Stripped me of my cloak and service, to bestow it to uncle– or should I say his father– before sending men to take my life.” 

“But you served the Targaryens, once.” Robb said, unconvinced of the knight’s contempt for King Joffery. “You were quick to betray the last of them for Robert Baratheon.” 

Aye, Your Grace. When Robert offered me his pardon, I did not refuse it.” 

The knight seemed aggrieved, as though the preceding years of his life had sullied his whitecloak regardless of his fabled integrity. 

“I served him, in his Kingsguard and council. Served with the Kingslayer and men just as worse…. But three Targaryens were left in the world; three children and Robert wanted them all dead. He already sent knives to hunt down Aerys’ children and was more than ready to start a war for Rhaegar’s. Loyally, I served this damned king, earning his trust and the means to sway his mind from child slaughter.” 

Ser Barristan looked to Rhaenys, his eyes blue and sad. “The word of your survival was a true blessing. And had I been at King’s Landing, when Princess Elia and her son were butchered and presented to Robert like namesday gifts, I would have killed him. Him and every man that laughed and gloated over their remains.” 

The grey-haired man spoke, his voice ringing with an accent from far away. “I was there, Your Grace, when Tywin Lannister brought Rhaegar’s wife and son into the throne room, wrapped in his House’s banners to hide his men's brutality.” He shook his head, as though trying to stave off the memory. “When Eddard Stark spoke of Rhaenys, Robert flew into such a rage, brandishing his blade and calling for the little girl’s head…” 

Rhaenys folded her hands in her lap, staring at the wood of the long table. Hearing of such things persisted to score open old wounds; the blood it drew seeped with ruby-red memories. Robb reached over to cover her hand with his. 

“My apologizes, Your Grace.” The grey-haired man said sincerely. 

Rhaenys nodded to acknowledge his apology. “Who might you be, my lord?” 

“I am Thoros of Myr, Your Grace. Never a lord– only a fool. I thank the Lord of Light that these past moons made me into my own fool and no other’s.” 

"You worship the Red God?" Edmure asked in disbelief. The Red God was more or less a demon, in the eyes of most people of Westeros. 

“I was a red priest of R'hllor,” Thoros replied, taking no heed of the scorn. “Sent west to convert King Aerys all those years ago. Needless to say, I was unsuccessful. But I remained in King’s Landing, eventually serving Robert as his swornsword and drinking companion. Months ago, the Hand Eddard Stark sent myself and Lord Beric Dondarrion to the Riverlands, to hunt down Gregor Clegane.” 

“Gregor Clegane is dead,” Ser Brynden. 

“So i’ve heard.” 

“Then why have you come here?” Robb demanded. 

Ser Barristan replied first. “I came here to offer my sword to a true king. Joffery’s claim is as vile and false as his name. In the shadows of a feeble claim, Stannis and Renly squabbled for power, the blood of brotherhood long forgotten, more so after Stannis murdered his own brother. If Robb Stark is even half as honorable as his lord-father was, then he is a king I would gladly die for.” 

Robb looked uncertain, but hostility had long faded from his eyes. 

“I wish I could offer more, Your Grace.” Ser Barristan continued, as he looked to Rhaenys. “You have long shed the name Targaryen, but I would serve you as I did King Aerys and King Jaehaerys.” 

“Thank you, ser.” Rhaenys said. Trust was a fickle thing for her, but the old knight had a kind face that mantled a great and honorable strength. 

“As for _you_ ,” Ser Edmure said, referring to Thoros of Myr. “Do you mean to swear your band of outlaws to King Robb?” 

“The Brotherhood Without Banners fights Lannisters and their men, as you do Lord Edmure.” Thoros said indignantly. “We need not bend knee to any man.” 

“The why are you here?” 

“I trained for many years as a red priest, to serve the Lord of Light. Learned to watch the blessed fires for glimpses and whispers of His will. Years, i’ve spent, staring into flame and smoke. When I saw nothing, I thought my God had forsaken me…until moons ago, when the red comet was bleeding into the sky. I saw the figures in the night’s fire– fleeting but long enough for me to understand.” 

When he stared at Rhaenys, as through he was searching his fires for his strange visions from his strange god; she felt gooseflesh creep down her neck. She was almost afraid to ask; “what did you see?” 

“I saw a woman bearing fires as if they were her own, wielding them against the cold breath of the darkness that fell heavy upon the world. I heard words of another tongue, whispering of smoke and snow and a name of Valyria. I saw a queen of a broken heart and broken crown, cleansing a broken world with fire and blood. I saw you, Rhaenys Targaryen.” 

When the hall fell into silence once more, Rhaenys wanted to laugh. Folly and omens drew to the Targaryens like flies to a carcass. 

“You must have gotten smoke in your eyes,” she opined 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Oprah voice]: You're Azor Ahai! And you're Azor Ahai!!!
> 
>  Also Barristan Selmy FTW
> 
> Sorry about the short chapter and the fact i haven't updated in 2 weeks. I've been busy/writer's block has been SO BAD.


	29. the dark hearts of midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The North has yet to lose a battle, yet they seem to be losing everything else.

Thoros of Myr had left as soon as he arrived, heeding Rhaenys' blatant refusal of his omens. Along with her, no one else at Riverrun paid Thoro's words any mind; why listen to a tale spun by a man who worshiped a demon?

Soon the northern and Dornish armies returned, all reaping the victories of their western assaults. The last moons had shown no mercy to the westerlands. Galbart Glover and Rickard Karstark raided along the western coasts. Maege Mormont captured thousands of livestock and had driven every one of them to the riverlands. Oberyn Martell and Greatjon Umber seized the famed gold mines at Nunn’s Deep, Castamere, and the Pendric Hills. Jon Snow took the castles Ashemark and Crag, in what the northerners called the most deft conquests they had ever witnessed.

 _The west was Robb’s_ , is what the northern lords boasted. A most sublime triumph and brutal insult to Tywin Lannister. The victories grew; yet, so did Rhaenys’ fears. None of this would matter until the North was truly free from Joffery’s reign and Stannis’s claim. 

“Cersei thought this all a game, Your Grace. A game of thrones,” Ser Barristan said to Rhaenys one day. Robb had accepted the knight into his guard, knowing it would have been folly to spurn such an honorable man.During the fortnight of the old knight’s time at Riverrun, Rhaenys grew fond of him; a _true_ true-knight. “The cheek of it! Who would dare call months of war and bloodshed a game?”

“Fitting, actually. A boy-king and his games” Rhaenys replied, as the two walked along a stone bridge that overlooked the Red Fork. 

A game of thrones. Did the lions and stags think her a pawn? Of course they did. Such was the price of her survival. A pawn to be moved and moved until the board was in their favor.The Red Keep, Sunspear, Winterfell. Targaryen, Martell, Stark. Princess, Lady, Queen. _The pawn became a queen_.

“Leave Cersei to her folly, ser.” Rhaenys told the knight. “She will learn soon enough that there are worse games to play.”

Ser Barristan smiled. “I can hear the iron ringing in your voice, Your Grace. You are truly Rhaegar’s daughter–The Last Dragon’s daughter.”

But Rhaenys wasn't sure if the praise was worthwhile. “Ser Barristan, was my father mad?”

“It’d be easy to dismiss him as such, wouldn’t it?” Ser Barristan replied. “Yet, for the years I had known him, fought with him, tourneyed with him, I swear on the light of the Seven that he hadn’t even a slight of taint. I served three kings, Your Grace, and Rhaegar would have been better than all of them."

Rhaenys’ brow furrowed. “But after all he had done…”

“Aye, Rhaegar loved the lady Lyanna but love is not madness, my queen. Robb Stark risked his position in war and his crown, once he learned of Harrenhal’s siege, of your capture. Men of your blood; Daemon Blackfyre, Bittersteel, Bloodraven, The Prince of Dragonflies, all defied and and killed and bled for love.”

“And my mother, after Rhaegar spurred his horse pass her…”

“Of all the tears shed because of that day, Princess Elia’s were never the first. Any other maid would have wept herself dry, but Elia Martell…a brave woman, Your Grace.” 

“No one remembers her as brave,” Rhaenys said bitterly. “Only as a frail princess who was spurned and slaughtered.”

“Aye, a true shame. Elia Martell was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. The realm can say all they want about her and her husband’s marriage, but I know Rhaegar was very fond of her.”

Fondness, not love. It was much more than Aerys and Rhaella but far less than Robb and Rhaenys. 

“What of Lyanna Stark?” Rhaenys asked. She never dared to ask Lord Stark of his sister's response after the crown of winter roses was hers.

“Stunned as everyone was, as the laurel was settled on her lap. She didn't dare to place it upon her brow. Do you hold her in contempt, Your Grace?”

“I never did,” Rhaenys replied.

“Oh?" Ser Barristan sounded surprised. "Forgive me, my queen, but I would have thought you of all people…”

“Lyanna was a girl, ser. Stolen from her north and only returned in death. It would’ve been easy to name her a temptress, for leading my father away from his wife and duty. But gods, she was just a _girl_. No different than Sansa or Arya.” 

The mere act of blame was a heavy sentence all on its own. From the moment Rhaenys learned of the “She-Wolf”, she could not find it in her heart to condemn her. When Ned Stark had told her that his sister would have never wanted the burden of Rhaegar’s sins to fall unto her, Rhaenys knew she would always think of Lyanna Stark in kind. Rhaegar's folly was his own.

The old knight looked at her with new intrigue. “I’ve seen rancor eat away at the hearts of better men, turning their blood black with discontent; but I doubt there lives a man who has suffered and lost as you have. Yet, you have a good heart, Your Grace. You’ve given the Lannisters reasons to fear you, as you have given the northerners reasons to love you.”

“…That is kind of you, Ser Barristan.”

“I only speak the truth, Your Grace. I came to Riverrun to serve a true king and i'm glad to have also found a true queen." 

—

The forlorn face of the weirwood saw the solemnness of the King in the North and his queen quite often. In the midst of their solace, Rhaenys could entice a small smile from her king. Robb wore somberness more often than he did his crown, begotten by months of war and loss. The northernmen were held down in abeyance; the crux of the war was creeping towards King’s Landing and the Iron Throne.

“I’ve won every battle but i’m losing this war…” Robb said bitterly. “We are no better now than we were since the Whispering Wood.”

“Your men are depending on you to lead, Robb. There has never been a worst time for doubt.” Yet, Rhaenys knew it was true. How many more moons, more men would it take for their victory to be ensured? However, she couldn’t bear to watch Robb grow weary with uncertainty.

“Gods be good, why would any man ever want to be king? They made me their king at whim’s breath, but I swore to do justice to their honor, to be as good a king as Father was a lord. To be brave, loyal, just…”

“You’ve done that and more!” Rhaenys insisted. “More than any king that has lived!”

“And yet here we are, my love.”

She felt hollow, as if her heart was now beating in a place where every hour was midnight; dark and uncertain. 

“Gods, forgive me,” Robb murmured. “I want nothing more than to take you back to Winterfell, to watch our child grow and hear you laugh again.”

“Hardly a sin,” Rhaenys said quietly. “Why implore the gods for forgiveness?”

“Because I sometimes think we won’t be allowed any peace unless I surrender the North to our enemies and curse in the faces of duty and faith.”

Utterly disheartened, the two sat before the weirwood, listening to the pleasant sounds of Riverrun’s godwood; the gentle warble of the streams, the ditty of tiny birds, the wind singing through the leaves. _What did the gods of the forest sing of?_ Rhaenys wondered, looking up to the trees and the azure of the sky. Did they watch Robb as she did? Through sad and helpless eyes? 

Lost in thoughts and the godswood’s sounds, neither of them heard the bootsteps behind them.

“Robb.”

A voice Rhaenys knew better than that of her own mother. They both turned to find Catelyn Stark, with Arya all but clinging to her skirts. Their eyes were misty and red, lines of grief etched on their faces.

—

Before his death, Renly Baratheon made his sole offer to Lady Stark. If Robb swore fealty to him, then the Starks will have their rule of the North; Robb could continue to call himself the King in the North. The oath and terms the same words Ned Stark said to Robert; the North’s “rebellion” would have been pardoned.

“But Renly wasn’t the true king,” Rhaenys said. And Robb did not become king for the title. 

“Doesn’t matter now. The man is dead,” Edmure sighed. “Murdered by, what was it again, dear sister? A _shadow_?”

Outside the walls of the Great Hall, a storm raged; eerie as Lady Stark’s tale of Renly’s murder. A shadow as black as any, moving like running water, drew its dark sword across Renly’s throat. A notion so strange, yet Lady Stark refuse to waver. 

“Mock me all you want, Edmure. I saw the creature myself!”

“I spoke to the lady Brienne of Tarth.” Ser Brynden said, naming the giant of a woman who was once a member of Renly’s Kingsguard. In her grief for her dead king, she slew two men who accused her for the murder. To spare her of further trouble, Lady Stark insisted that Brienne return to Riverrun with her. 

“Said the shadow shared the face of Stannis. Stubborn, that one is. Yet, I can’t bring myself to call her a liar.”

“She is too innocent for lies,” Lady Stark attested. “I trust her with my life.”

Edmure opened his mouth to protest but Robb stopped him. “If Mother trusts Brienne of Tarth, than I see no reason to doubt her.”

All that mattered was that Renly was dead, along with his attempted reign. One less king to worry about. But as Lady Stark affirmed, Stannis was a man of cold stone, unyielding and hardly-forgving but not unreasonable– more of a threat an Renly ever was.

They also informed Lady Stark of the Lannisters’ reply to Robb’s terms. A fortnight earlier, Cleos Frey had (finally) returned to Riverrun with an offer from the acting Hand, Tyrion Lannister; along with Eddard Stark’s bones. Robb immediately had Hallis Mollen take the bones north, so his father could’ve been buried in the crypts of Winterfell beside his father, brother and sister.

Tyrion’s counter was as such: Joffery would release Sansa, along with a number of captive Stark bannermen, in return for Robb’s fealty and Jaime’s release. He also demanded that Robb’s hosts join Jaime’s to clash against Stannis and that each of the Stark and Martell bannermen send a son or daughter to King’s Landing as a hostage. The Imp had also questioned Robb’s decision to attack the westerlands before waiting for his envoy to return with response. “A most unwise and rash choice, for a man who calls himself a king,” Tyrion wrote ( _”says the man who shares blood with Joffery,”_ Rhaenys snorted). 

_“The Wall would have melted before the Lannisters agreed to my terms,” Robb had said. “What warning did they offer to Lord Tully before laying waste and siege to the riverlands and his castle?”_

He repeated all this to his mother, who grew grim at the mention of her husband’s bones. “….You forwent Tyrion’s offer.” 

“Mother, you know I would sooner die before bending the knee to Joffery." 

_—_

Rhaenys was keen to properly meet the lady Brienne of Tarth. She found her tarrying near the Great Hall, along with Arya. The woman was tall and ungainly, with straw-colored hair and broad, coarse features that were dotted with freckles. Her nose looked like it might have been broken more than once. In the midst of her unsightly self, her eyes were large and soft-blue. Brienne was still garbed in fine bronze-colored armor; the armor of Renly’s Kingsguard. 

“Oh! Your Grace!” Brienne stammered, bending the knee as Rhaenys approached her. “It’s all right, my lady!” Rhaenys insisted, motioning for her to stand and glancing at Arya. She should have known her good-sister would have also been very eager to meet the woman who was well learned in steel. 

“Lady Stark said you’ve been swore into her service.” Rhaenys said. 

“I have, Your Grace,” Brienne replied. “I’d swore to lay my life for her’s and that is what I shall do.” 

“How did a woman of Tarth grow to be akin to a knight?” Rhaenys asked curiously. Many women of the northern houses learned to hunt. The women of House Mormont and Bear Island learned to hold axes instead of needles. With the exception of Dorne, southern women hardly took up swords and mail. 

She must have first told this tale to Arya, whose eyes were shining in admiration 

“I grew up fighting boys,” Brienne said, not minding the repetition of her words. “My father disapproved but I kept fighting and losing every time. Finally, he grew tired of my dusty clothes and bloody hands and allowed to to take up steel in the sight of our master-at-arms.” 

She was a staunch woman; stubborn as Ser Brynden called her. Yet, Rhaenys could see why Lady Stark readily took Brienne into her service. Loyal and eager to please. A woman trying to find a place in a world that must have held her in scorn. 

\---

Bran and Rickon were dead. 

Theon Greyjoy took Winterfell for his own. 

_Never trust a Greyjoy!_ Catelyn Stark had said. 

Days after Lady Stark, the blood-red words came to Riverrun as evening fell, speaking of the thirty ironborn led by Theon, who forced Bran to yield the castle. He took the children at Winterfell for his hostages, but days later, publicly presented the scorched bodies of Bran and Rickon. 

In a solar, Robb and Edmure argued as the former declared his intentions. Rhaenys listened, as she watched the cloudy black sky from the window sill. Lit candles illuminated her desolate face. She pulled her shawl tightly around her, hoping to smother the bitter chill that had overtaken her. 

“There’s still a war to win, Your Grace.” Edmure said. “If you leave now, we will lose what we gained!” 

“Theon Greyjoy murdered my brothers!” Robb spat. “I will march north and I will kill him!” 

"Robb, Edmure is right!” Lady Stark rasped. The pain in her voice caused Rhaenys to shut her eyes in despair. “As king, you can’t leave the war lands so abruptly!” 

“What use is being king if I couldn’t defend my own castle or protect my own brothers?!” 

“Being king doesn’t mean you have to do everything on your own!” Lady Stark said. “Summon for Roose Bolton! Let him raise his men at the Dreadfort and retake Winterfell! But Robb, there is nothing left you can do… _the boys are dead!_ ” 

“I heard Greyjoy holds the castle with less than thirty men,” Edmure said. “Bolton could easily take back Winterfell before the new moon.” 

Rhaenys was held in a torpor, the voices lost in a fog. Bran and Rickon, her little good-brothers. Dead at the hands of a man that Robb also called his brother. Theon also took Ser Rodrik Cassel’s head and had Septon Chayle drowned; gods know how many more of Winterfell’s people the turncloak murdered. 

She wanted Theon dead and rotten, perhaps burnt alive as he did unto Bran and Rickon. 

“Very well,” Rhaenys heard Robb said and she slightly roused from her daze. “Send word to Harrenhal. Have Lord Bolton raise the Dreadfort, but I want Theon Greyjoy brought to me alive. I want to look him in the eyes and ask him why, before I take his head off!” 

Edmure left the solar and the Starks to their grief. Robb went over to the window sill to take Rhaenys into his arms. She pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to the gentle sounds of his heart. 

“Robb, please consider this–seek peaceful terms with Stannis Baratheon.” Lady Stark said, her voice heavy with anguish. 

Rhaenys heard the disbelief in Robb’s tone. “Mother, what–” 

“Consider it!” Lady Stark pleaded. “No matter who sits on the Iron Throne, they _will not_ give up the North! How many months? How many years? We’ve lost so much, Robb! So long as this war continues, you will have more to lose!” 

She had grown desperate and weary. The North’s succession and rule meant nothing to her anymore.The loss of her husband and sons turned her into a creature of heartache that took no joy and uttered no laughter. Rhaenys could not fault her for that. 

Robb was solemn. “My lords made me their king. I can’t forsake and surrender them to the Iron Throne.” The doubt he was plagued with in the godswood was still there yet in spite of that, he chose adamance. 

“There is no shame in it! Torrhen Stark kneeled to Aegon the Conqueror rather than see his armies face the dragons and fires. You wouldn’t be the first king or Stark to bend the knee.” 

“Did Aegon kill King Torrhen’s father?” 

“Your father is gone, Robb! No battle will return him or your brothers to us. Think of your sisters! Think of your wife and child!” 

At once, Rhaenys felt Robb tighten his arms around her, as though something was coming to take her away from him. 

“Ned taught you how to kneel as well as stand!" Lady Stark said. "The Seven Kingdoms are full with crypts and pyres of men who never learned that lesson.” 

“Father knelt before Joffery and the bastard still took his head off." 

\--- 

As dawn broke, the soft morning light washed over the commotion and chaos that Riverrun had woken to: Jaime Lannister had vanished, along with Brienne of Tarth and Cleos Frey. 

Rhaenys thought the Frey was to blame, perhaps tempted and emboldened by some outrageous offer by Cersei Lannister. Brienne of Tarth hadn’t been at Riverrun for long, before she viciously broke her oath to Lady Stark. 

But when Catelyn Stark was brought before her own son in the Great Hall, Rhaenys was certain that all the world was a jest. 

“Mother, tell me this isn’t true.” Robb pleaded. 

“I did it for Sansa,” Lady Stark said, her voice strong and unapologetic. 

“You betrayed me.” Robb’s voice was quiet, yet Rhaenys could hear the rage underneath. 

“I had five children, Robb!” Lady Stark exclaimed. “ _Five!_ Only two are free and another two are dead!” 

Suddenly, Lord Karstark burst through the heavy doors, the fury of the harshest winter in his eyes. Ser Barristan followed him closely, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “They said Catelyn Stark freed the Kingslayer!” He roared, as he strode to them. “Two of my sons were slain by his blade! I waited moons for vengeance, now I will get none!” 

“Lord Karstark, killing Jaime Lannister will not bring your children back,” Lady Stark said. “But returning him to King’s Landing may bring back one of mine.” 

“You were a fool!” Lord Karstark spat. “You dare stand before me and call yourself a Stark!?” 

“That’s enough, Lord Karstark!” Rhaenys said. He turned to her, his ire no less. 

“Queen you may be, but you are still a woman. You will never understand such things, of men and their need for vengeance!” 

But Rhaenys held his gaze, the pools of grief were still well watered in his eyes. “Gregor Clegane killed my mother and brother, my lord. I grew up in the long shadows of a desire for vengeance.” 

“Then you know of my right!” 

“Lord Karstark,” Rhaenys urged. “Yet, my mother did not return to me, with my little brother in her arms. Likewise, your sons will not return to you, no matter how many men you kill. The crows might reap from such, but your sorrow will be no less!” 

“Soft!” Lord Karstark spat before storming from the hall. 

Robb returned his furious gaze to his mother. “You brought discord upon the castle and weakened our position.” He turned to Ser Barristan and Edmure. “Make sure she’s guarded day and night.” 

“Robb,” Rhaenys started but he ignored her. 

“How many men did we send in pursuit of the Kingslayer?” 

“Forty, Your Grace,” Edmure answered. 

“Send another forty with our fastest horses. Tell them if they have to kill the Frey and the Tarth to bring him back, then do so.” 

“Yes, Your Grace,” Edmure said, giving his sister one last look of contempt before leaving the hall. 

“Robb,” Rhaenys repeated, her voice dull. 

"I don’t have a choice Rhaenys!” Robb retorted. “I was betrayed by Theon and now by my own mother!” 

“Love was never wise,” Rhaenys responded, looking up at him. “Especially in moments born from misery.” 

Robb looked at her incredulously. “You forgive her.” 

Rhaenys felt her tongue go dry. The accusation in his tone could have made anyone else cower. “I don’t approve…but I understand why.” She wished to the gods that Lady Stark hadn’t released Jaime Lannister in the dead of night, under some pretense that the Kingslayer would honor whatever word he said. But even if there was even a whisper of a chance that Sansa would come back to them, then Lady Stark would not refuse it and Rhaenys could not spurn her for it. 

Robb stared at her as though she had also betrayed him. Rhaenys would’ve rather face the wrath of the Seven Hells than have Robb look at her like that. With nothing else to say, he left the hall without looking back at his mother and wife. 

Rhaneys suddenly felt unsteady; Ser Barristan and Lady Stark helped her to a chair, before the latter dismissed the knight from the hall. “Rhaenys,” she said gently. “Robb’s fury is only meant for me. If not for grief, he’d sooner curse himself than be angry with you.” 

“Are you certain Jaime will return Sansa to us?” Rhaenys asked, pressing her fingertips to her temple. 

“Jaime was only the key to the door. Brienne of Tarth swore an oath to me. Rhaenys, the woman is as true as any knight if not truer– as loyal to her liege as the sun is to the sky. She would renounce her honor, her dreams, her rest, to find my daughter.” 

“Then if Brienne succeeds, i’ll see that she is properly knighted.” _So long as Robb’s men didn’t find her first._

When Rhaenys realized she was thinking against Robb’s behest, she cried herself weary in Lady Stark's arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed in every story I read about Rhaenys, she hates Lyanna with a passion. So I thought, why not go against the trend? I blame Rhaegar for pretty much everything.
> 
> Also, whenever I remember that Maege Mormont stole Tywin's cows, it makes me happy.


	30. the queen of all westeros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Queen Nymeria" Obara Sand once told Rhaenys.

Many watched as the two bodies were laid before the king and his queen. 

The boys were both young, younger than Robb. Captives since the Whispering Woods and quieter than mice. One was Lannister blond, a light stubble upon his youthful face. The cousin favored his Frey blood, brown-haired and mousy. His palms were laced with gashes; attempts to shield himself from the blade that had threatened him. Imprisonment had already blanched the two boys; death made them paler than snow. 

As Rhaenys tore her eyes from the corpses, The Greatjon brought Lord Rickard Karstark and four of his men in to the courtyard. Her heart sank at the sight of the great Karstark; yet she wasn’t surprised. 

“It took five men to murder two squires, Lord Karstark?” Robb asked angrily. 

“ _Vengence_ , Your Grace, not murder.” The Lord of Karhold spat. 

“Neither of them had a hand in killing your sons!”

“They were the Kingslayer’s blood!” Lord Karstark insisted. “And your mother killed them just as much as I!”

Robb looked to his lord in scorn. “My mother had nothing to do with this! This was your crime, your treason.”

“Treason!” Lord Karstark laughed. “Is it not treason to set your enemies free!?”

“War is fought on a battlefield, my lord. Not by killing boys in their sleep!”

“War was never pretty, boy. Did your father not teach you that?”

Robb didn’t answer, only looking to Lord Glover. “Take Lord Karstark to the dungeons. Hang the rest.”

At once, one of the men started pleading. “Mercy Your Grace! I didn’t kill anyone! I only watched!”

Robb turned to his bannermen. “This one was the watcher. Hang him last so he could watch the others die.”

The watcher screamed and pleaded as he and the others were dragged away. The Greatjon shook in head in disgust. “This cannot leave Riverrun. The squires were of Tywin’s blood and he will respond in kind. I say we bury them and keep quiet until the war is done!”

“This won’t be kept hidden for long.” Robb asked. “You’ll make us liars as well as murderers? If Tywin learns who really killed his kin, then it will mean more trouble.”

“Murderers?! Your Grace, one of the boys Karstark killed was Tion Frey, brother of Lyonel Frey!”

“Tion Frey wasn’t the one who held me in a tower and threatened me.” Rhaenys responded. “What would be the point if we killed every Lannister-Frey except the one who committed the crime?”

“Your Grace–”

“They were boys, Lord Umber!” Rhaenys protested. “Would you have children killed in their beds next?!”

Gods know, she’d never want the children of her enemies thrown to knives and fires. At what point did vengeance become slaughter?

“I’m not fighting for justice if I don’t serve justice to killers in my ranks– no matter how highborn he is.” Robb declared. Rhaenys looked up at him as she realized the weight of his words.

“Robb, the Karstarks are northernmen! They will not forgive the killing of their lord and they will abandon you.”

“I can’t have men in my ranks seeing to their vendetta whenever they see it fit,” Robb replied. 

“Keep him as a hostage, Robb!” Jon insisted. “Tell the Karstarks that as long as they remain loyal, he will not be harmed.”

“Lord Karstark killed two unarmed boys while they slept, Jon! That would make us no better than the Lannisters.”

“More boys will die before this war is over,” Rhaenys remarked. 

To that, Jon argued, “and you need Karstark men to end this war.”

But Robb wasn’t going to relent, not even to the entreatment of his wife and brother.

—

Rain had started to fall when Lord Karstark was brought outside the walls of Riverrun. Robb’s bannermen gathered near the block, along with Rhaenys, Lady Stark, Prince Oberyn and Ser Edmure. 

Lord Karstark spoke. “The blood of the First Men flows through my veins as much as yours, boy. I raised my banners against Aerys for your father and against Joffrey for you. I rode beside you and I stood with Lord Eddard on the Trident.” He looked to Robb defiantly. “We are kin, Stark and Karstark.”

“That didn’t stop for from betraying me, nor will it save you now.” Robb replied.

“I’m glad for it. I want this to haunt you until the end of your days, _kinslayer_!” Lord Karstark spat. “King in the North! Or should I call you the King Who Lost the North?!”

Robb glared at him with cold eyes. “Kneel, my lord!”

Lord Karstark was pushed down, his neck on the block.

“Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold, here in sight of gods and men, I sentence you to die.” Robb said. “Would you speak a final word?” 

“Kill me and be cursed! You are no king of mine.”

In the rain and a glint of steel, it was done.

Robb threw his sword to the ground, striding to the castle with a harrowing look on his face as he clenched his right hand. Rhaenys looked sadly to the bleeding neck of Rickard Karstark.

What had this war come to? 

—

Hours after Lord Karstark’s death, the rain grew heavy, striking the window panes like whetted arrows. Rhaenys found privacy within the vacant war room, accompanied only by the roaring hearth. Across the long tables, maps were left unfurled; the largest being a map of Westeros. Wooden carvings of stags were set around King’s Landing; Stannis and his army. He had finally taken the war to the capital.

If Stannis succeeded, then he would be king. If he lost, then Joffery would remain king. Rhaenys would have rather see Stannis on the Iron Throne; at least he was reasonable. But would he surrender rule of the North? Lady Stark did not think so– and neither did Rhaenys. The Seven Kingdoms were no more than seven jewels adorned on a crown– what king would want to wear a crown that was missing one?

 _I wish you were queen instead of Cersei_ , Arya had told her, days before the news of her brothers’ death reached them.

 _I am a queen_ , Rhaenys had said.

A _queen_ \-- _not_ the _queen_. Arya replied.

The door creaked open, interrupting Rhaenys’ thoughts. She looked up from the stags to find Robb. “Rhaenys, what are you doing in here?” He asked, closing the door softly behind him. 

“I thought to myself, what would be the last place anyone would think to find me?” Rhaenys responded. “And I chose well.”

Robb gave her a sad smile as he took the seat to her left. “You weren’t ever a stranger to war rooms.”

“I feel more like a stranger with each passing day,” Rhaenys admitted. _War is making a wraith of us all_ she thought, looking upon Robb’s pale and worn face.

Robb casted his gaze to the wooden stags upon the map. “I find myself worrying about Stannis’ battle...then again, Jon said it may as well be ours.”

“What will happen after?”

“I can’t tell, Rhae. Sometimes it feels like this war will carry into years beyond ours.”

It was a bitter picture. The people of the North, considered traitors and exiles in their own land. Living their lives with glances over their shoulders and fear in their hearts. A lion or a stag always watching, waiting, and warring. Their children’s children fighting battles they should have ended long ago.

“You’re our king Robb. Whatever happens, you’ll have our confidence.” 

“Aye, what a king to kneel to," Robb said bitterly. "The king who lost the north.”

“You didn’t lose anything–Theon betrayed you. He betrayed every one of us.”

“Theon….” He spat. “I thought he was my friend; now I can’t tell one from the other. Eddard and Torrhen died for me in the Whispering Wood. Tion Frey and Willem Lannister, they were my enemies. Yet I had to kill my dead friends’ father for their sakes. When did it all become so confused?”

“Robb, I am certain of two things–that the sun will rise in the east and that you always have your men, your brother, your sisters, your mother, me…” Rhaenys said, reaching for his cold hand. “Please remember that.”

Robb looked at her before leaning in to kiss her forehead. Tender moments in a war room; it seemed so contradictory. “I’d give up my crown for you,” he murmured. 

“Don’t say that. It wouldn’t be wise to forsake a kingdom for a girl.”

“You said it yourself; love was never wise.”

—

The heavy storm gave away to a beautiful and cloudless night sky, dotted with thousands of stars. Rhaenys watched the heavens through the windows of the Great Hall as the bannermen convened. She was sure Robb called for his lords to discuss their next move. The Battle at Blackwater was said to have reached its third day. Nothing was said of who held the favor.

So they gathered, as candles were lit and mead was passed along.

“My lords,” Robb said, as he stood to look upon the men and women. “My mother told me there is no shame in bending the knee. Rather than watch his people die, Torrhen Stark kneeled before Aegon Targaryen.”

At once, murmurs broke out among the ranks; some confused, some already outraged. Even Lady Stark looked surprised. Rhaenys’ own breath was stuck in her throat. Did Robb mean to kneel before Stannis after all? She turned to Jon, wondering if his brother had confided to him; but Jon looked just as bewildered as anyone.

“Your Grace, what is the meaning of this?!” Lord Umber bellowed. 

“Lord Umber, we’ve allowed stubbornness and folly to decide our fates and plan our battles for too long.” Robb said. “We both know that the king on the Iron Throne would never allow for the North’s succession. How many more will die because I was too foolish to admit to that?”

“We made you our king!” Lady Mormont cried. “You’ll abandon us and the North because you grow tired of fighting?!”

“I grow tired fighting for a senseless cause,” Robb said. “Our people and lands are bleeding, Lady Mormont! How many more months, more years before we win our freedom again?”

“We will fight until our dying breath!” Lord Glover said. “I rather die than be ruled by southron fools!”

“Cravens none of you are!” Robb held. “And I hate to see such bravery further wasted on my folly.”

“So that’s it then? You’ll relinquish your crown and leave us to Stannis, or gods forbid, the Bastard Boy-King.” Lord Umber spat. “I never thought I’d see a Stark cower.”

“Stannis will not be your king!” Robb retorted. “And neither shall Joffery! I’ll be cursed before I let either of them rule over the North.”

Then he looked to Rhaenys, his eyes bright with all the love he ever had for her. “Torrhen Stark won’t be the last King in the North to kneel to a Targaryen.”

The hall grew so quiet.

“Robb, what are you doing?!” Rhaenys demanded. 

“Rhaenys, I said i’d give up my crown for you,” Robb replied. Indeed he did, but there was nothing starry or cloy about his tone this time. “The Iron Throne is yours, if you will have it.”

He was naming her the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Lord Umber guffawed. “Westeros has never been ruled by a woman!”

Despite her astonishment from Robb’s words, Rhaenys was affronted by the lord’s tone, with thoughts of Rhaenyra, as well as Aemon’s daughter Rhaenys, lingering in her mind. In the corner of her eye, she could see Arya’s reproachful look.

“Lord Umber, Rhaenys has been your queen for moons! Has she not proved herself worthy in your eyes?” Robb asked. 

“A hundred times over!” Alysane Mormont answered for the Greatjon. “Ask any man or woman who was at Harrenhal!” 

“Then who else would you trust with the North? Who else would you trust to rule you?”

Words were elusive. Rhaenys could only look upon the faces of the men and women in the hall. Some were utterly baffled at the turn of events; others had started to nod, as if they saw some sense.

Then Prince Oberyn spoke. “Rhaenys holds a true-claim, a birthright, ruled by her own blood, rather than the blood and bones of others.” 

“The line rightfully falls to Rhaenys.” Ser Barristan agreed. “None of those pretenders could hold a candle to her.”

How long had Rhaenys forsaken the thought her grandfather’s crown, what should have been her father’s crown? She thought it hollow and broken, cursed and forever lost. Yet, as Robb named her queen once again, she thought of those who were taken from her and the people who dared to take them from her. She thought of the war, of the suffering. She thought of an end and of a kinder time. 

Robb drew his sword, laying it before her feet as he knelt to her. “Rhaenys, the North is yours, as am I. Where you lead, I will follow.”

At the sound of his steel grazing the stone floor, the lords looked to each other, their hands only lingering at their hilts. 

_If queen I must be, then gods show me a way_ , Rhaenys thought. At once, she slid from her seat to her knees, Robb’s sword between them as she looked at him. “This could be our undoing,” she murmured to him, reaching to touch his cheek. He smiled; the sweet knowing smile he kept only for her.

“No, my love. This is your beginning.”

On the wisp of a memory so faraway it should have been lost, a woman’s voice came on a breath of light; _you are of the blood of kings and queens and conquerors and mothers. The winds of the north can carry your fire but that path will be at your mercy; she must be bolder than the fire she lights…_

So Rhaenys kissed her beloved’s brow before she rose, the eyes of many on her. They waited– some with eagerness, others with dourness. When she glanced at Arya, whose own grey eyes were shining with long lost joy, words found her at last.

“My veins run with the blood of dragons, not of winter like yours.” Rhaenys said, looking to Lord Umber “But I lived in the North long enough to know of The Wall, of the Wolfswood, of the ice and iron that your children are born with. I know that winter is coming.” 

She paused, as murmurs made its way among the ranks. The embers in her heart turned into a flame.

“My lords, by the grace of the blood I have long forsaken, we shall see our enemies at our mercy. Such is your right, after being wronged for so long! And worry not for the ones your steel cannot reach, for winter will take them in the end."

The shadows and whispers of stern doubt became roars of approval, of new found hope. The flame turned into wildfire. Rhaenys could take the name Stark, bear a Stark’s children– but she was born a Targaryen. The Last Dragon’s daughter. The blood of Aegon the Conqueror.

“I am the blood of the dragon, the blood of Old Valyria!” Rhaenys reminded them all; as well as herself. “The Lannisters, Baratheons, Tyrells, Greyjoys; they will all learn to their sorrows that it isn’t wise to mock a living dragon.”

Lady Stark had been one of the first to kneel, her forlornness replaced with determination. Gods knew that Catelyn Stark had been mother to Rhaenys as Ned Stark was father. Jon looked on proudly as northern and Dornish men drew their swords to welcome their queen once more. Arya was smiling; a broad grin on her long face that reminded Rhaenys of better days. Even Lord Umber gladly relented, as he drew forth his great longsword. “The Queen of All Westeros!” He bellowed.

“The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” Oberyn and Obara shouted, their dark eyes burning with jubilation.

In the very hall where Robb was made king, he unmade himself, kneeling before Rhaenys as Torrhen did before Aegon. As swords were drawn and knees were bent, a new chorus echoed throughout the great hall: 

_“THE QUEEN OF ALL WESTEROS!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 30! I made it!
> 
> You want to know what got me through this chapter? Listening to "Breath of Life" by Florence + The Machine on repeat.
> 
> And yes, the northerners should have made Rhaenys "Queen Of The Seven Kingdoms" at the very start. But I think with this route, she was able to prove herself worthy to be their queen and not only because it was her birthright.


	31. dark clouds on the horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Terrible news was nothing less than a raven; dark, ominous, and prone to flock."

The day came, when Lord Hoster Tully uttered his final word and drew his last breath. 

The Lord of Riverrun was laid to rest in a wooden boat and set down the Red Fork by Robb and six Tully bannermen: Jonos Bracken, Tytos Blackwood, Karyl Vance, Jason Mallister, Ser Marq Piper, and Lothar Frey. Following customs, a flaming arrow was to be shot to light the sails as the boat traveled down river. 

In his grief, Lord Edmure missed three times before surrendering the bow to his uncle Brynden. As Lord Tully’s pyre was finally afire, the riverlords offered their condolences once more to remaining Tullys. Rhaenys watched as the blazing boat disappeared over the river’s horizon. The Blackfish told her that the Tullys had always drawn their strength from the waters of the river, and it was to the same waters they returned to when their lives reached its end.

“He looked as noble as a king, my lady,” Rhaenys said to her good-mother. Lady Stark had been solemn all the morning, yet tears were sparse. Lord Tully had been dying for so long, perhaps it was comforting to think he’d had found peace in death.

“He was a good man,” Lady Stark replied sadly. “I’m glad the gods took him when his time came.” Was she thinking of Lord Stark, Bran, and Rickon? All dead before their own times? 

The gods were only ever fair when they felt like it--such was why they were gods.

Before Rhaenys could speak another word of condolence, Lothar Frey approached Lady Stark and said his: “A sad day, my good lady. The riverlands shall mourn Hoster Tully for moons.”

Lame Lothar, named so for a twisted leg, had been sent to Riverrun by his father Walder to assess the manner of their alliance to Robb, claiming that the Starks had reaped all of the benefits of the alliance and the Freys had yet to receive anything in return. If it wasn’t for Walder’s impatience and greed, no Frey would have bothered to spur to Riverrun, even after the death of their liege lord.

“Thank you, Lord Lothar,” Lady Stark replied genteelly. 

“Pity he hadn’t lived to see his only son wed,” Lothar continued, glancing over at Edmure. “It shall be such a lively affair-- my father will make sure of it.”

Edmure had very vocally refused to marry a Frey girl, but Rhaenys knew they would still need House Frey’s support if they were to take King’s Landing next; Lord Walder's loss of a Tully good-son would surely upset their alliance. 

“This is a somber day, Lord Lothar,” Rhaenys said carefully. “We will discuss your House’s assurance in due time.”

Lothar grunted. “Robb Stark told me he renounced his title and claimed you were now Queen of All Westeros.” He shook his head. “The whole realm has gone mad... now the northerners went and made a woman queen.”

“You object to my rule, my lord?”

The man looked at her with his close-set eyes. “Do I dare do so? Your king might set his wolf upon me.”

Lothar Frey was more intelligent than he looked.

\---

Terrible news was nothing less than a raven; dark, ominous, and prone to flock. Word of Stannis’ defeat at King’s Landing had been grim enough; rumor was that he had fled to Dragonstone with only a fraction of his men and ships. With Joffery victorious, he would be allowed to further establish his tainted rule.

On the morning of Lord Tully’s funeral came more dark news from Duskendale; Robett Glover and Helman Tallhart took it upon themselves to attack the castle and lost nearly a third of Robb’s infantrymen while doing so. Tallheart had been killed, Harrion Karstark and Glover captured. 

Upon his arrival, Lothar Frey also revealed that Winterfell had been sacked and burned. Theon's ironmen had put the castle to the torch and its men to the sword. However, Ramsay Snow, Lord Bolton’s bastard son, had led the surviving women and children to the safety of the Dreadfort and had rallied his men to drive out the ironborn. Theon Greyjoy was now Ramsay’s prisoner--a silver of good news. 

“The Boltons flay their prisoners,” Arya said as she and Rhaenys ventured into one of Riverrun’s many lush gardens, both eager to escape the gloom of the castle, and in Rhaenys’ case, the frequent fussing of the septas and maesters; queen Rhaenys was but she was now five months round with child.

“So long as Theon is kept alive, Ramsey Snow can do what he pleases,” Rhaenys replied. The last she had seen the Greyjoy, he had been smiling carelessly as he always had, promising his quick return and the company of the ironborn.

He certainly wasn’t smiling anymore.

From a branch of a tree, a fish hawk called, taking flight and skimming its talons against the waters of a nearby stream. Rhaenys felt her heart dull at the bird’s call; many of the ravens and hawks at Winterfell had been killed. Silverwing was surely one of them--the tiny gyrfalcon she had dedicated so many days and nights to save from death's grasp.

“Do you ever wish dragons still lived?” Arya asked, watching the bird pluck a fish from the waters like a petal from a flower.

 _Strange question_ , Rhaenys thought. One that was never asked; why waste breath on such? “When I was a child,” she admitted. “I used to spend days dreaming about them.” She looked up at fish hawk and its great wingspan. “I used to dream about them setting the Lannisters afire before swallowing them.”

“I like that dream,” Arya said, a small smile blooming on her face.

“So do I.”

Behind then, a man chuckled, high and unsightly “Such sweet girls shouldn’t dream of such things!”

Lothar Frey limped towards them, not at all bothered by his impudence. Rhaenys never expected much from a Frey anyway.

“A man shouldn’t eavesdrop on his queen,” she said icily.

“Forgive me, Your Grace!” Lothar Frey said hastily. “I did not mean to overhear your words. I only meant to offer you apologies, on behalf of my House, for Lyonal Frey’s despicable actions at Harrenhal.”

Rhaenys stifled a sigh, looking to Lothar as he turned timid.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“It’s his Lannister blood, Your Grace,” he continued. “May as well be poisoned blood!”

Then he turned to Arya. “Is this her then? Ned Stark’s youngest daughter?”

Rhaenys felt her veins grow cold. In truth, Arya’s betrothal had been a small thought in the minds of those who knew about it and Arya herself still hadn’t been told. Lothar continued to speak as he examined Arya thoroughly. “She looks like more like a Stark than her brother does. Pretty, though. Elmar shouldn’t have a hard time.”

 _Seven hells_ , Rhaenys thought, panic coursing through her.

“What do you mean?!” Arya demanded, looking from Lord Lothar to Rhaenys. “Who’s Elmar?”

“Your betrothed, my lady!” Lothar replied, an amused smile creeping upon his lips. “Did your mother not tell you? Or your queen? Granted, you've been missing for so long--”

“He’s lying!” Arya spat, looking up at Rhaenys in horror and anger. “Rhae, please tell me he’s lying!” 

Lothar looked affronted to being called a liar but Rhaenys paid him no heed. “Lord Lothar is not lying, Arya,” she said. “To cross the Twins…you were promised to Lord Frey’s youngest son, Elmar.

“You knew!” Arya screeched, her voice and eyes brimming with a look Rhaenys knew well-- betrayal.

Before Rhaenys could say any more, Arya ran off.

“Willful girl!” Lothar exclaimed. “That’s why they ought to be married away as soon as they flower, Your Grace. Leave them be, and they’re no better than any wild animal. I hear Stark women are the worst of them all.”

Rhaenys looked to Lord Lothar in contempt. “Arya Stark has more spine than most men--perhaps the Freys ought to remember that!”

“I meant you no offense, my queen--” 

“I don’t care for what you mean!” 

Yet Rhaenys couldn’t help but curse herself. Lothar Frey was there as his father’s envoy and it was his father’s men she needed to help end the war. Offending him wouldn’t end well for anyone. The fault was not Lothar’s own. Arya had the right to know; her dignity was worth more than this.

“Forgive me, my lord. Arya is nothing less than a sister to me.”

“Such is no secret, Your Grace.” Lothar replied airily. “You’ve known no family but the Starks and your veins course with dragon blood. I’ve heard tales about the Targaryen’s quick anger. Quite legendary.” 

He glanced to where Arya ran off. “The wolfblood is no different.”

“Trust nothing but our fury,” Rhaenys said quietly. “Pardon me, my lord.”

She walked away in the direction Arya had ran, with guilt rooted deep within her heart. 

\---

Rhaenys couldn’t spare a moment for search for Arya herself (she had no idea how the girl could have disappeared so quickly), for as soon as she returned to the keep, Robb was waiting for her; a letter was crumpled in his fist.

“Robb what happened?” Rhaenys asked, though she was almost too afraid to ask. Robb’s look was one a dark one indeed.

“It’s Sansa,” he said in a low voice. For a fleeting moment, Rhaenys was sure she was dead until Robb spoke again. “She has been wedded to Tyrion Lannister.”

“No..."

Sweet Sansa, who dreamed of a man so handsome and noble to take her for his bride, now the wife of the Imp. Another one of the Lannisters’ farce; a wolf draped with the mangy lion’s veil and forced into his bed. This was surely an attempt to seize the North.

“I haven't told Mother yet,” Robb admitted. “Her lord-father hadn’t been dead for two days…and now this.”

Rhaenys sighed. There would come the day when Catelyn Stark met with her gods-- they would have to beg for her forgiveness.

“The sooner we take King’s Landing, the sooner I can take Tyrion’s ugly head!” Robb said. “But we lack the men, especially after Duskendale.”

“Perhaps I can treat with Lady Arryn,” Rhaenys suggested. Lysa Arryn had stubbornly refused to take any side throughout the war, even ignoring the word of her own sister and uncle. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Robb replied gently, placing a hand on Rhaenys’ belly. “I’ll meet with Lady Arryn, when the time comes.”

Rhaenys furrowed her brow. “And in the meanwhile?”

“We have Lothar Frey to entice. Perhaps we can send Arya to the Twins as a ward.”

Rhaenys suddenly turned choleric. “Seven hells, Robb! Do you want her to take Nymeria and run off into riverwoods?!”

At the sight of his nonplussed look, Rhaenys spoke of what happened in the garden with Lothar. 

“I’ll talk to her,” Robb promised. “Perhaps Jon can get a word in, but there’s nothing that can be done about it now.”

“I know that,” Rhaenys sighed. “Please, Arya is still a child. Send her to the Twins when she’s ready…when she understands what we did in its entirely. Maybe then she’ll forgive us.” _Most girls weren’t given such a choice._

“You were younger than she was when you came to Winterfell,” Robb said. Yet he looked guilty, as though _he_ was the one who robbed Rhaenys of such a chance of dignity. “Is that what you wanted?”

“I only ever wanted to stay in Dorne…but I knew _why_ I had to leave. I didn’t accept it until after many days at Winterfell.”

“What changed your mind?”

Rhaenys solemnly looked up at him. “I had outlived my father, mother, and brother, on the grace of luck. I didn’t want misery to rule the rest of my days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, i'm alive and very sorry for the lack in updates. I've been busy AND my writer's block had been so bad. This chapter was hard to write for some reason and I had to step away from it a bit. Lucky for me, i've got the next few chapters planned out.


	32. fire in the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the people and false kings of Westeros didn't know was that the true queen was nearing their horizons.

_“The dragon has three heads,” Rhaegar murmured. He stood at one end of a massive longtable that had been carved into the shape of Westeros; delicately painted and etched upon it were mountains, rivers, and cities. The colors might have been vibrant once– now it had faded to pale blues and musty greens._

_Rhaenys stood at the other end, where the North had been engraved upon the darkwood. The circular chamber they were in had four tall glassless windows, each overlooking the north, south, east and west. Outside, both sea and sky were dark and rolling with an impending rage._

_Rhaenys said nothing; she’d grown tired of him and his hollow words._

_“Won’t you speak, sweet child?” Rhaegar asked, a shadow of concern crossing his face. “This is your council.”_

My council? _Rhaenys thought. There was no one here but her dead father. “Queens doesn’t seek council with the dead,” she finally said, accusing him of mocking her rule._

_Suddenly there were more people in the room, two groups on either side of the painted longtable. She nearly flinched away, before realizing so many of their faces were familiar to her; Jory, Rodrik, Maester Luwin, Old Nan, Septon Chayle, Septa Mordane, Torrhen and Eddard Karstark, standing with their father Rickard…_

_Her heart swelled when she saw Ned Stark. He looked just as she last saw him; solemn with his dark grey eyes as soft as fog. Lord Stark was accompanied by a man and woman who shared his coloring. The man was tall and handsome, but his face grim. The beautiful woman reminded Rhaenys of Arya, with her long-face and wild look in her grey eyes. Beside her stood a slender direwolf, grey-furred and yellow eyed…_

_On the opposing side, stood a graceful yet forlorn woman with high-cheek bones, moon-silver hair and violet eyes. Beside her was a man with a gaunt face, silver-blond and lilac eyed; he was almost as handsome as Rhaegar, but his cruel look must have forbidden such. On the woman’s other side, stood a slender Dornish woman, brown-eyed and black-haired with a tired but kind face; she held a baby in her arms, small and fair-haired. Rhaenys wanted nothing more than to run to her._

_So many faces. All dead before their time._

_“Your council, Queen Rhaenys,” Rhaegar announced._

_The comfort of the dead. Rhaenys returned her bewildered gaze to Lord Stark._

_Bran and Rickon…they’re weren't there with their father. What could that mean?_

_When Rhaenys turned to face her father once more, she saw as his melancholic face turned dark, his indigo eyes watching something behind her._

_“This is not your place,” he urged._

_Rhaenys’ brow furrowed as she turned around, wondering what could have daunted her father so. She found herself looking into the azure eyes she loved so much._

_Robb._

Rhaenys awoke in cold sweat, her skin and bedgown damp from it. From the corner of her eye, she saw the septa Anna rise from her chair, her needlework falling to the floor. “Your Grace, are you alright?” She asked, pulling the coverlets off Rhaenys.

“Y-yes,” Rhaenys stammered, realizing she was alone in the bed. The dream was a fresh wound in her mind, bleeding black blood onto her judgment. “Where’s Robb?”

“Lord Tully wished to speak with him,” Septa Anna replied, touching Rhaeny’s forehead lightly. “His Grace did not wish to disturb you after last evening.”

 _Last evening?_ Rhaenys thought. 

“It’s not strange for a woman with child to faint so suddenly,” Septa Anna said gently. “But your babe shall be well, all the same.”

 _Oh._ Rhaenys vaguely remembered now. They had been in the Great Hall, counciling late into the night, when she was overtaken by a fleeting light head. When she opened her eyes, she was in bed, being watched over by a very fretful Robb.

“It could happen again?” Rhaenys asked wearily.

“I’m afraid it could,” Septa Anna said sympathetically. “I’ll draw your bath, Your Grace, and bring you something from the kitchens.”

“Thank you,” Rhaenys sighed. She fell back upon the pillows as the septa curtsied and left the chambers. 

Her dream of an unknown room, where the dead convened for council. And Robb…. Robb wasn’t dead….but Bran and Rickon were. Rhaegar’s accursed chambers were contradictory.

Rhaenys stared up at the canopy of the bed, dread flooding her chest. _Just a dream, a stupid dream,_ she repeated to herself, hoping she’d soon believe it.

—

Rhaenys donned a dress of dark blue, her favorite chain of winter roses around her neck. At the bottom of the staircase, Grey Wind had been waiting. He stood as tall as a man’s waist now, ever more monstrous. Yet, at the sight of Rhaenys, he yelped quietly and nuzzled her belly gently. 

“Rhaenys!” 

She looked up from the direwolf and saw her uncle, his face drawn with concern.

“I’m alright, Uncle,” Rhaenys said hastily, knowing he would ask. 

Oberyn took her into his arms.“Queen you may be, but you are still my little sun.” Rhaenys said nothing. She knew whenever her uncle looked at her, he saw Elia and perhaps what she should have been. He sighed and kissed her hairline. “I’d hate to leave you yet again, but we’ve still a war to win.”

“You’re leaving? Why?” Rhaenys asked, nearly protested.

“We need more men and steel to take back your throne.” Oberyn replied. “Doran called for the training of more spearmen and warhorses but we’ve not the luxury of time. I had proposed another idea– the Second Sons.”

Rhaenys was surprised. The Second Sons were a band of thieves and killers and rapers. Their ill reputation and wicked command of their leader Mero had reached Westeros all the way from Essos. She repeated so to Oberyn.

“Not always,” he replied grimly. “Before Mero of Braavos took command, they held the ranks of good men, respectable and honorable–men you’d be proud to call your brothers.”

“How would you know of such?”

“Because I served with them,” Oberyn smiled at Rhaenys’ bewildered look. “Before you were born, dear one. I spent a year in their service and warred in the Disputed Lands of Essos. The Wandering Wolf, Rodrik Stark, also served them loyally once, as did a few of your Targaryen ancestors.”

Rhaenys knew her uncle had traveled throughout the East in his youth; yet, no one ever mentioned where he rode or how lent his spear to a band of mercenaries.

“Mero is an evil man, Uncle…” Rhaenys began. Truthfully, she did not want to turn to the swords of vile men; would she have to make an exception? “How do you intend to convince him to cross the Narrow Sea and fight for the Westeroi?”

“I have been known to be very persuasive–especially with a spear” Oberyn grinned. “Just as a viper persuades with his fangs.”

"Uncle….”

But Oberyn maintained a hopeful air. “The men of the Second Sons listen to no one but their captain, and I have no intentions to win your kingdom with thieves and killers and rapers. Robert and Joffery had done enough of that!”

—

By the time Rhaenys and Grey Wind reached the Great Hall, Lord Edmure's council had started to disperse. The first to have left was Lothar Frey, who wore a smug look upon his face. Upon seeing Rhaenys, he greeted her quite graciously. 

“A respectable council, my queen.” Lothar announced. “I glad to see you up and about. You nearly took a nasty fall last evening.”

“I’m stronger than I look, Lord Lothar,” Rhaenys replied. Beside her, Grey Wind became restless, prodding her hand with his nose.

“Oh indeed!” He uttered, eyeing the agitated direwolf nervously. “If you pardon me, Your Grace, i’ve some matters to attend to…”

As he sauntered off, Rhaenys wondered what could have possibly made Lothar so merry. 

Many of the riverlords had also started to leave the hall, all of them bidding her greetings. In the Great Hall itself, only four remained; Edmure, Lady Stark, The Blackfish, and Robb. Robb brightened at the sight of Rhaenys, leaving his seat to rush over to her. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice heavy with worry. 

Rhaenys’ dream was all but a wisp of smoke in her mind. Yet, Rhaegar had the mind to speak the truth; that room where the dead convened was not Robb’s place. "We’re alright, Robb,” she murmured. He looked relieved, cupping her face gently with his hand. 

“Forgive me. Lord Edmure called for council and I did not wish to wake you.” 

The new Lord of Riverrun looked sullen, his appearance not matching the dignity of the words he spoke as Rhaenys sat at the longtable: “i’ve decided it would be in better interest if I proceeded with the marriage to Lord Frey’s daughter.”

 _Well that explains it_ , Rhaenys thought as she recalled Lothar Frey’s smug look. She furrowed her brow, looking to Robb for an explanation of Lord Edmure’s suddenly swayed mind. It was the Blackfish who answered:

“Amends, Your Grace, for the battle at the Fork. Had it not been for my nephew’s oversight, Tywin Lannister would have never seen the light of Blackwater’s battle.”

“And we need Lord Frey’s men,” Robb remarked. “With his numbers, we can start rebuilding the armies lost at Duskendale.”

But Edmure was still perturbed by his own decision.“Lord Lothar kindly told me that his father had long chosen the bride,” he snapped. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he offers a hideous half-wit to spite me!”

Rhaenys stifled a sigh of frustation. An ugly wife should be the least of his concerns. “My lord, if the girl is as unsightly as they come, I hope you still welcome and treat her with kindness and respect.”

“Your queen’s words,” Robb said lightheartedly. 

Edmure breathed deeply. “Lothar leaves on the morrow, to delight his father with the news.”

“Has he asked about Arya?” Rhaenys asked. After she ran off yesterday, Jon found her in the godswood. When Rhaenys attempted to speak with Arya, she was wordlessly spurned. In Arya’s mind and eyes, she had been betrayed by her own family.

“Arya will remain here,” Lady Stark replied. “I will not have her out of my sight until the war is over and when Sansa is widowed and returned to me.”

Rhaenys was relieved; Robb didn’t wait so long to speak to Lady Stark of her daughter’s fate.

“Not yet fifteen, but wedded and soon to be widowed.” The Blackfish spat. “What games do these Lannisters play?”

“Bring me Cersei and Tyrion and I will show them even worse games,” Lady Stark said coldly.

—

As they left the Hall, Robb told Rhaenys about his plan to take back Moat Cailin from the ironborn. Jon, Maege Mormont and Galbart Glover would travel to Seagard and take separate ships from Lord Mallister to sail up the Neck. Once up river, they were to search for the Greywater Watch as envoys to the crannogmen, who were currently ruled by Howland Reed; one of Ned Stark’s oldest friends. Combined with Lord Bolton’s men, the North could be taken back before the new year.

“Balon Greyjoy’s rule will end as quickly as it started,” Robb declared. Lord Greyjoy had proclaimed himself King of the Iron Islands (again) as the ironborn invaded the North. “Whether or not he is granted pardon, that is your choice.”

They walked along the sunlit halls, Grey Wind padding behind them.

“Lord Greyjoy’s elder sons are long dead and Theon will join them shortly. His House is falling to ruins.” Rhaenys said. “If he cares for his House’s survival, then he’ll swear fealty and i’ll pardon him.”

“And if he refuses?”

“Then he will meet his Drowned God– ”

Rhaenys trailed off suddenly, her ill words for the Greyjoy stuck in her throat. Queen’s duty faded to wonder as she placed her hand over her belly. 

“Rhaenys, what’s wrong?” Robb asked, growing fretful. She looked up at him, her brown eyes wide with awe. 

“I felt it.” Her baby. She felt it flutter ever so slightly, like a tiny bird in her womb.

“Oh?” Robb tenderly placed his own hand on Rhaenys’ belly. Grey Wind looked up at them, his tail lashing from side to side. 

Rhaenys felt her womb stir again and they both smiled. “A wild little thing,” Robb mused, pressing his forehead against Rhaenys’. His blue eyes were shining with untouched joy. Azure eyes– the sea and sky to her fire and sun. 

—

Arya refused to speak with anyone. Her rage was a harrowingly quiet one; whenever her lessons were finished for the day, she’d brood alone in her room, the godswood, somewhere where no one would bother her with words. Rhaenys felt guilty when she spared a thought to the terms of Arya’s betrothal. Rhaenys had been betrothed for protection (and to stave off a king’s paranoia). Lady Stark’s was to join two houses. Arya’s was to cross a bridge.

Jon Snow was the only person Arya did not spurn right away. They’d often meet in the godswood or along the river, their direwolves roaming about. Rhaenys was grateful for this; at least Arya wasn’t entirely alone. But Jon would have to leave Riverrun to travel north with Lady Mormont and Lord Grover; and that day came soon enough. A fortnight after Lothar Frey left the castle, the three northerners were to leave for Seagard.

“Have you noticed,” Rhaenys said to Jon, on the morning he was to leave for the North. The morning air was still and coupled with an icy wind. “That when we separate, bad things tend to happen?”

Jon looked at her, considering her words. “Don’t fret so much, Rhae,” he finally sighed, a faint smile on his lips. “You’ll become as silver-haired as your ancestors in little time.”

Rhaenys closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Oberyn was to leave for the Saltpans in a few days time. Nymeria planned to spur back to Harrenhal to meet with Obara and the rest of the Martell bannermen. Rhaenys could not fend off the unease she felt.

“Westeros would be glad to have a queen that cares and worries for them as she would her children,” Jon claimed.

"Would that not make me soft?” She asked.

“I wouldn’t dare to call the woman who killed The Mountain _soft_ ,” Jon smiled. “Father once said, ‘you won’t know the rage of a she-wolf until you threaten her young.' Now imagined that of a dragon.” 

Rhaenys sighed and smiled at him. “When I see you again, i’ll have a baby in my arms.”

“I look forward to that,” Jon replied, leaning in to kiss her forehead. 

—

Edmure learned that his bride was called Roslin, In a letter sent to him by Walder Frey, the woman was named and the wedding was set. Lord Frey also wrote of his gratuide that the King and Queen of All Westeros would honor him at his daughter’s wedding. Rhaenys would be six months with child by the time Edmure was wed; leaving Riverrun could be risky.

“A show of faith, Your Grace,” The Blackfish said. “Lord Frey has always been slighted by the smallest of things.”

“No, I understand, Ser Brynden,” Rhaenys replied. 

Even so, Robb wasn’t as certain. “Lord Frey must know you’re with child–-he wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t make the journey to The Twins.”

“Are we speaking of the same Lord Frey?” Rhaenys asked dryly. “I won’t risk vexing Walder Frey. Not when a march on King’s Landing is finally at our horizon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE YOU YELL AT ME, I just want to say "please don't yell at me, i know what I'm doing (most of the time)." If not this, it would have been something else; i chose the Wedding That Shall Not Be Named because I'm still pissed that it happened and this will be my "fuck you" to GRRM.
> 
> I KNOW a lot of you repeatedly told me to not do the thing; but there i am, doing the thing. 
> 
> Besides, maybe it won't turn out the way you're expecting it to.
> 
> Also, Fire In The Water by Feist is a great song.


	33. cursed be the ones who come between them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.”

Oberyn must have been glad to leave Riverrun; the days were growing colder, the whispers of winter creeping ever so surely. Frigid winds were never known to touch the lands of Essos or the Free Cities. The Red Viper was to sail across the Narrow Sea to Braavos, a favored place for sellswords of all companies to tarry about. 

“You shall have your armies,” he promised Rhaenys, embracing her for a last time. 

“You have my confidence and my love,” she replied. “You always have.”

But the famed black viper eyes shown with a sadness. “I had Elia’s as well, little sun, and I failed her.” An eighteen year-old torment, a wound that never quite stopped bleeding. For years, Rhaenys had wished her uncle all the peace in the world, yet even that wouldn’t be enough.

Oberyn spoke again, his voice low and dark eyes burning. “But gods and hells take me if I fail her daughter.” He kissed her cheek. “Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. A promise to our enemies and a challenge to our lovers. Your mother’s words. Our words.” 

—

Riverrun had grown even quieter after the dornishmen left. Only a couple of men accompanied Oberyn, including Daemon Sand. Many had gone to Harrenhal with Nymeria. It was rumored that Joffery planned to launch an assault on Dorne for their refusal to bend the knee. He had yet to know that Rhaenys was declared Queen of Westeros; his already unbridled wrath would increase a ten-fold.

“We will give him a _fright_ when we knock down his door,” Lord Umber guffawed. 

They forwent public declarations of Rhaenys’ rule in favor for seclusion. Cersei would undoubtedly send more men and armies to the riverlands; a battle the northerners and dornish wished to avoid. Instead, while the Lannisters reaped and gloated from their victory at Blackwater Bay, Robb’s armies could regroup and rebuilt, preparing for an attack on King’s Landing. 

After Edmure’s wedding, Rhaenys and Lady Stark were to return to Riverrun as Robb and the northern lords went north. Once the ironborn were defeated and Balon Greyjoy made his fateful choice, the northerners were to spur to the Vale, to treat with Lady Arryn.

In the meanwhile, Rhaenys awaited her baby. 

Her Elia or Eddard, the blood of the dragon and a wolf; the first of its kind. An interesting contrast as Rhaenys was nearly the last of _her_ kind. Ser Barristan told her that Viserys had been killed by his sister’s husband. Since leaving Joffery’s court and the spies that twittered about, the old knight was without further words about Daenerys’ fate.

“She too holds a claim,” Ser Barristan had said.

“Mine is stronger,” Rhaenys replied. Rhaegar was the crown prince and the line fell to her. If her aunt lived, then she lived as a horselord’s wife far across the Narrow Sea, far away from Westeros; lands Daenerys Targaryen had never known. Yet, Rhaenys bore no malice against Daenerys, for she didn’t wish to be the last Targaryen left in the world.

—

Rhaenys had been sitting at a window sill in the library, watching for nothing in the grey skies and green woods of the riverlands. Jon had been eight days gone, Oberyn five. In a couple of moons time, she would be watching for Robb from the windows of Riverrun. While she stared out the window, the sprightly Septon Karl chattered about as he sorted through the many books. Riverrun’s library wasn’t as vast as Winterfell’s had been, but the collection was nevertheless impressive. Rhaenys couldn’t help but smile at the septon’s anecdotes, ranging from his life as a boy to a book he came across “just the other day.”

“Just the other day, Your Grace, I revisited our rather battered volume of The Testimony of Mushroom.“

“The lackwit?” Rhaenys asked curiously. She hadn’t heard about him since she was a girl.

“The very same! Though, some think he feigned his simple-mind so that nobleborns would speak freely around him and unknowingly divulge their secrets.”

Rhaenys turned away from the window to look at Septon Karl. “Mushroom claimed the dragon Vermax laid a clutch of eggs under Winterfell,” she said, remembering the story Old Nan once spoke of.

“Mushroom wrote an entire attestation to such claims,” Septon Karl said. “I say along with his avowal that King Viserys Targaryen was poisoned in his sleep, insisting that Vermax laid eggs in the North was well-nigh an oath for him.” 

“But Vermax was a male dragon.”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” Septon Karl agreed. “Though, some say that dragons had no true sex and could shift between male and female.”

 _Huh?_ Rhaenys had never heard of such a thing.

“All speculations, Your Grace,” Septon Karl said. “And as the dragons have been dead for years, there’s never been any reason to give it thought.”

Rhaenys fondly recalled when Robb wanted to venture into Winterfell’s crypts to search for dragon eggs. It seemed like such a different time, in a faraway land…

“Ah, hello, Your Grace,” Septon Karl greeted as Robb entered the library. Rhaenys looked up as he responded to the septon in kind. Her husband appeared weary; yet no matter what, he always found a smile for her. Robb walked over to the sill and offered her his hand. “Care to walk with me, my queen?”

She did.

—

The bitter winds must have come from the north, for if Rhaenys closed her eyes, she may as well be back in Winterfell. Even the airy godswood of Riverrun appeared austere. Memories flooded into Rhaenys’ heart, of a different time and a different godswood. She wove her gloved hand into Robb’s as they walked to the weirwood.

“We’ll leave for the Twins soon enough,” Robb said. “After the wedding, I will return North to reclaim it.” Rhaenys grew glum at his words; she didn’t want to leave him again. She couldn’t help it. Dread has been her constant companions of late, its voice of shadows and shattered ice. Rhaenys breathed deeply, embracing him and resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. 

She shut her eyes, willing the godswood away, leaving only herself and her Robb. Her wolf. Her king. Her reminder that there was still good in the world. Rhaenys felt him press his cheek against her hair and caress her curls. Even the gods couldn’t sunder them in that moment; if they dared tried, she would have broken their bones.

—

Rhaenys tapped on the wooden door, hoping this was the day Arya would finally speak to her. Maybe she would relent, since Rhaenys was leaving for The Twins.

“Arya?” 

Silence, apart from a quiet yelp. Rhaenys sighed. The direwolf wasn’t supposed to be in Arya’s bedchambers. Nymeria wasn’t as large as Grey Wind, but she certainly was no pup anymore.

“I thought i’d say goodbye before we left,” she continued. “Seeing how I won’t see you again until another two months.”

A slight rustling. Arya opened the door slightly, her hair tousled from lying upon her bed. “You’re leaving?” She asked, looking at her good-sister through the door’s gap.

“For Lord Edmure’s wedding.” 

“Oh,” Arya said. Nymeria had joined her at the door and she tried to shoo her away.

“Nymeria’s not supposed to be in there,” Rhaenys reminded her.

“Well, I want her here,” Arya grumbled. 

“I’ll tell the steward she went hunting then.” Rhaenys said. “But keep out of trouble Arya. I won’t be here to lie for you.”

“…Thank you, Rhaenys.” The door closed. Rhaenys stared at the darkwood for a fleeting moment before walking away.

—

The last Rhaenys had seen Oldstones was on the eve of a battle. Now she could fully realize the strange beauty of the ruined castle amongst the tapering weeds and soft pink flowers. A welcomed sight, after spending the journey in a small carriage; Rhaenys detested it, but being five months round with child forbade traveling on horseback. Lady Stark had been kind enough to keep her company.

Just as before, the sight of King Tristifer’s sepulcher made Rhaenys sad. She kept to the encampment, Grey Wind her sole guard if she wandered. Ser Arron and Ser Barristan had their watchful eyes on her. Of course, no man or creature could ever be as heedful to her than Robb.

After restlessly roaming around Oldstone, Rhaenys settled on a nook that overlooked the Blue Fork in a breathtaking manner. The rolling hills and rivers of the riverlands, the leas green, brown, and burnt. The horizon was magnificent, where green met pale blue. 

Suddenly flowers of soft pink cascaded upon Rhaenys, falling onto her lap and undoubtedly her hair. Amused, she glanced up and saw Robb.

“Hello, Jenny,” he smiled. 

She scrunched her nose, looking at him fondly. “Does that make you Duncan then?” Duncan Targaryen, the Prince of the Dragonflies, the first born son who gave up his throne for love. Robb kept smiling, sitting next to her and presenting her with another pink flower; a wild rose.

“I guess so,” he replied, tucking it behind her ear. 

Rhaenys took one of the smaller wildflowers that had fallen upon her lap, twirling it by the tiny slender stem. Poor Jenny, who had outlived her beloved dragon when his life was taken in the fire at Summerhall. Many said the woman used to spend hours at Ducan’s tomb, weaving garlands of flowers and often falling asleep at its side. _I would not want to be Jenny…_ Rhaenys thought to herself.

“Mother said you’ve been somber,” Robb said.

“You would be as well, if you were stuck inside a carriage.” Rhaenys replied. Truthfully, she’d been somber on the morning they left Riverrun; but she didn’t want to worry Robb.

“Aye, I suppose you’re right.” 

He gazed out at the horizon, where the pale blue sky was slowly giving in to the setting sun. Fireflies had started to drift about, their dim lights like tiny stars. One landed on Grey Wind’s nose, causing the direwolf to snort and shake his massive head. Rhaenys giggled, a flower falling from her hair onto the pile of pink petals on her lap. She looked over to Robb who was watching a firefly meander lazily. Overcome with affection, Rhaenys kissed his cheek. “I’ll make you King of the Fireflies yet,” she said, placing the flower she had been holding into his auburn curls.

—

Lanterns and fires were being lit as Rhaenys and Robb returned to the camp. Grey Wind silently passed them, making for the woods at the foot of the hills to hunt. Robb was soon pulled aside by Lord Umber, bearing news that Lord Bolton was riding for The Twins. Good news, as Robb had summoned him to join the retaking of Moat Cailin. As they spoke, Rhaenys spotted Ser Barristan standing idly near a tent. Upon approaching him, Rhaenys saw the kind look in his blue eyes.

“Pretty flowers, Your Grace,” the old knight greeted. 

“Thank you, Ser Barristan.”

He smiled. “I had the luck to spot His Grace as he picked them. I had served three kings and I have never seen one choose flowers for his queen.” 

“He thought to lift my mood,” Rhaenys said, smiling as a flower fell from her hair and onto the ground.

Ser Barristan looked pensive. “If I may say so, Your Grace, that you’ve been quite fortunate. The Targaryens had always a tendency for choosing poorly when it came to matters of the heart.”

Rhaenys furrowed her brow. “How so?”

“Their choices had always led to disaster,” he replied gravely. “King Jaehaerys incurred the rage of two great houses when he broke his betrothal to a Tully girl to wed his sister Shaera, who had been promised to a Tyrell. Daemon Blackfyre loved the first Daenerys and rose in rebellion when he was denied her. Bittersteel and Bloodraven both loved Shiera Seastar and the Seven Kingdoms bled. Duncan loved his Jenny so much he cast aside a crown and Westeros paid the bride price in corpses. You know all too well that Rhaegar loved Lyanna Stark and that his house paid the greatest price.”

Rhaenys listened as the knight spoke of the Targaryens and their folly. Fire and blood had always been their way of life; love was no exception. She never chose Robb, but a life without him was unfathomable. How fortunate that she was both beloved and wife, and not one or the other.

“Is that where that old maid’s tale came from? ‘The love of a dragon came with a high price’?” As a girl in Sunspear, Rhaenys heard it once or twice. Arianne told her to pay it no heed.

“I would think so, Your Grace.” The knight’s face turned grim. “Before he died, Robert claimed Robb Stark doomed himself the moment he married you. Said that right to Ned Stark’s face.”

Rhaenys’ blood turned cold. Ser Barristan sighed. “Gods old and new bless the soul of The Quiet Wolf. The Targaryens gave him the most heart break yet he risked the wrath of his king to defend the last ones.”

“Why would Robert say that?” Rhaenys asked, her mind still fixed on the dead usurper’s ill words. 

“Your Grace, Robert’s hollow words have no place with you,” Ser Barristan insisted. “Robert was no Daenys; the only doom he heeded was if his wine wasn’t in front of it precisely when he demanded it.”

 _I’m being silly,_ Rhaenys thought. “Forgive me, Ser Barristan,” she said hastily.

“You’ve nothing to forgive, my queen,” he replied. “Your love for your king is hardly a sin.”

If it was, then Rhaenys would have taken the gods’ punishment with a smile.

—

Lothar Frey had been waiting at the sally port of the Twins. He was joined by Ser Ryman Frey, a grandson of Lord Frey, and three of his sons: Edwyn, Black Walder, and Petyr. Lothar appeared to be in high spirits, receiving Robb’s host quite warmly, especially Rhaenys. However, as soon as she left the carriage and Lothar approached her, Grey Wind started to growl.

“Grey Wind!” Robb called out, as the direwolf leap forward at Petyr Frey, causing him to be thrown from his horse. 

As Grey Wind slunk back to Robb’s side, Ser Ryman only laughed. “You’ve all a long journey, Your Grace. He must be hungry.”

 _Grey Wind’s not a dog,_ Rhaenys thought stubbornly.

Ser Ryman continued to speak, informing them that their rooms were prepared for them and their bannermen at the Water Tower; the army was to cross the bridge to the far end and join Lord Frey’s and Lord Bolton’s men beneath pavilions built for the wedding.

“My lord-father wishes to extend his greetings before all else,” Lothar said.

“Of course,” Robb replied, handing his horse’s reins to Olyvar Frey and walking over to Rhaenys. However, when they reached the gatehouse, Grey Wind started to howl, refusing to continue further.

“He must fear the water,” Lothar mused. “I can have our master of hounds take him.”

“Ser Arron can stay with him,” Rhaenys said, the black dread creeping back into her heart. _Grey Wind always knew…_

—

Back again, in Lord Walder Frey’s great hall where he sat with his eighth wife, Joyeuse. However, his brood was absent this time as they were all helping to preparing for the wedding on the morrow. Lady Joyeuse helped her husband stand as he smile widely at his guests. “The Queen and King of Westeros!” He remarked.“With a little one on its way!”

Then he greeted Lord Edmure like a son, praising the might of House Tully and commending the joining of their two houses at last. Lord Edmure did well to mask the sullenness he maintained since leaving Riverrun. It wasn’t until he finally met Roslin Frey that he truly softened; the girl was beautiful, pale-skinned and brown-eyed, her chin small and nose delicate. Her light brown hair reached her waist. For the first time since arriving to the Twins, Rhaenys smiled and glanced over at Robb. He returned her amused smile.

“Lord Frey, we’ve been riding for a month and a place at your table would be appreciated.” Lady Stark said carefully.

“Bread and salt, of course.” Walder Frey replied. Rhaenys saw the small look of relief on her good-mother’s face as their guest right was secured. Lady Stark always said the Freys were untrustworthy; her brother’s wedding did nothing to nix her words.

—

Lord Bolton had arrived at the Twins a day earlier, having ridden from the Ruby Ford. He brought mostly his own men and most of the Karstark men; the rest remained at the Trident to guard it. Gregor Clegane’s brother, Sandor, had led armies along the Ford and even attacked Lord Bolton and his men on their way west. 

Joining them at Lord Frey’s table, Lord Bolton spoke of Winterfell and his bastard son Ramsay. As Lothar said, Ramsay had rescued many women and children from Winterfell and had been leading men to attack the ironborn. Rhaenys couldn’t help but mention Ramsay Snow’s atrocious crimes; he was known to rape, murder, and flay young women, before feeding them to his dogs.

“The boy is wild and cruel, Your Grace,” Lord Bolton agreed. “Tainted blood, but he hopes his deeds will act as his atonement.”

Rhaenys said nothing, wondering just how many girls and women suffered because of a ‘wild and cruel boy’. _There is no atonement for rape and murder_ , Rhaenys thought. _Either Ramsey will take the black or lose his head_.

Then Lord Bolton spoke of Balon Greyjoy’s death. “Fell while crossing a bridge during a storm,” he reported. “Though some say he was murdered by his brother, Euron.”

“Killed for his worthless crown,” Robb said.

“Be it for the Seastone Chair or the Pyke, the Iron Islands will see turmoil in the upcoming days,” Lord Bolton sighed. “Theon Greyjoy was his father’s true heir. His uncles will want him dead as much you, Your Grace.”

“Ramsey still holds him at the Dreadfort?” Robb asked.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Lord Bolton reached into the pocket of his surcoat and presented Robb and Rhaenys with a tear of cloth. Upon unwrapping it, Rhaenys saw the flesh and dried blood; Theon’s skin. “But Theon holds a higher claim than any of his three uncles, and they all could demand surrender from the ironborn as the price of his execution.”

“You’re saying we should keep Theon alive,” Rhaenys said darkly.

“Until the Iron Throne is truly yours.”

Theon murdered Bran and Rickon and betrayed Robb. He should have been dead moons ago. But Rhaenys sighed and looked at Robb. “Until we’ve taken back the North and find resolution with the Greyjoys, Theon should remain at the Dreadfort.”

“Very well, Rhae,” Robb agreed reluctantly. Rhaenys turned back to Lord Bolton. “Theon has an elder sister, Asha. Does she not hold a claim?”

“Yes, but she is a woman, Your Grace.”

“So i’ve heard,” Rhaenys replied dryly. “I would also think her uncles haven’t been paying her heed because of such.”

“While Theon still lives, then yes.”

Perhaps she could treat with Asha Greyjoy; if Asha bent the knee, then Rhaenys would declare her Lady of the Iron Islands. Rhaenys repeated this idea to Robb and Bolton; the latter seemed amused. 

—

Robb insisted that Rhaenys rest while he checked on Grey Wind. The direwolf’s howls could have been heard from the Water Tower, though Lord Frey took no offense (”let the beast be a beast”). Shirei Frey led Rhaenys to the prepared chambers, as ordered by her lord-father. She was a girl of eight, Lord Frey youngest daughter, with mousy brown hair and sad blue eyes. “Are you really the queen?” Shirei asked. Her voice shook, as though she was nervous to utter a word. Ser Barristan followed them closely.

“I am,” Rhaenys said kindly.

“Are you a dragon queen?” Shirei continued, encouraged by Rhaenys’ warm tone. “Like the first Rhaenys?”

“Not quite. The first Rhaenys had her dragon.”

“Oh,” Shirei replied though she wasn’t disappointed. “Is it true that Robb Stark could turn into a wolf?”

Rhaenys smiled in amusement. “Only when he doesn’t like someone.”

Shirei looked up at her in a wonder. “I wish I could change into a creature. Not a wolf though.”

“Oh? What would change turn into?”

“An otter,” she declared. “You can see them swimming and playing from the bridge. My brother and I would catch frogs around the castle and drop them from the bridge and the otters would eat them! Mother would scold us but we’d still do it.”

 _What a sweet girl_ , Rhaenys thought. It was hard to believe that her father was Walder Frey. “Perhaps you can show me your otters some time?“

“Alright!” Shirei exclaimed, her blue eyes wide.

When they reached the chamber, Shirei informed Rhaenys that her father had ordered to attend to her at all times.

“Go off and play, Shirei,” Rhaenys replied. “If your lord-father grows cross, tell him you were following the queen’s orders.”

The girl smiled excitedly and curtsied. “Thank you, Your Grace!”

Ser Barristan watched as Shirei ran off, skipping as she did so. “You’ll be a good mother, Your Grace. “

“I hope so.” 

—

Rhaenys had fallen asleep. She meant to wait for Robb, to ask him about Grey Wind. Yet, when Rhaenys’ eyes opened, she saw the black of the sky though the window. At the sight of the night, she sighed, shifting herself until she realized Robb was next to her. His head was resting on her pillow, his hand on her swollen belly. Rhaenys settled back into their pillow, watching her wolf as he slept soundly. 

She felt her womb stir, their little babe growing restless. 

—

The morning of the wedding was indeed a beautiful one. 

They all gathered into the Twins' sept, waiting for Lord Frey to lead his daughter in. Lord Edmure waited, a cloak of blue and red folded over his arm. When the bride walked in at last, the Lord of Riverrun smiled fondly at her. Soon enough, he draped his House’s cloak upon Roslin’s shoulders and they repeated the familiar words before the Septon.

"Father, Smith, Warrior…”

“… Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.”

—

Rhaenys watched as Lord Edmure doted on his new wife. Roslin seemed to have grown fond of him as well, though she seemed rather glum. Lady Stark said that the bride had been crying before she entered the sept. _Nerves_ , Rhaenys had thought. She had also been nervous on her own wedding day, and she wasn’t even marrying a stranger.

The wedding feast had been a lively affair, as Lothar said. The musicians had been playing since the guest entered the great hall and hadn’t stop since. Dancing was the last thought on Rhaenys’ mind, so she was content to watch. She and Robb had a table to themselves; Lady Stark sat with Roose Bolton and Ryman Frey. Lord Bolton’s own wife Walda had long left the Twins for the Dreadfort. The northerners were scatted about, taking their ale and wine with the Freys. Ser Barristan and Ser Arron took to a corner, sharing stories in low voices.

“Look at him,” Robb said. Rhaenys turned to see the bride feeding her husband blackberries from her hand. “He complained about the marriage long before leaving Riverrun.”

Rhaenys looked amused. “I suppose you won’t let him forget about that for the rest of his days.”

“Oh, never.” Robb replied; as he spoke, his fingers were tracing slow circles at the back of Rhaenys’ hand unheedingly. 

The music stopped and Lord Frey stood up, beaming at his guests. “The septon has prayed his prayers, said some words, and Lord Edmure has wrapped my daughter in a cloak– but they are not yet man and wife! A sword needs a sheath and a wedding needs a bedding!”

Several men laughed, some already chanting “bed them!”

Lord Frey turned to Rhaenys. “What does the Queen Of Westeros have to say?”

The chants grow louder as she stood up. “If you think the time is right, Lord Frey, then by all means, let us bed them.”

Men and women roared and they quickly made their way to Edmure and Roslin; the latter had started to weep. Rhaenys barely heard Lord Edmure’s reassurances to his wife, over the bellows of men and the musicians’ song. She glanced over to Robb, remembering their own bedding. The memory became bitter, however, as she thought of the men who had had stripped her-some were dead and one was a turncloak.

“Poor thing,” Robb said as he stood next to Rhaenys, They watched as Lord Umber helped carried the sorrowful Roslin out of the hall. Edmure shortly followed, his face red with merriment.

“All brides have to suffer through it,” Rhaenys replied.

He smiled at her. “I doubt you suffered.”

She pretended to scoff. “Neither did you! You were surrounded by dornishwomen-– a feat most men could only dream about.” 

Robb chuckled, pulling her close. “I only ever dreamed of one.” 

Rhaenys simpered before kissing him. In the midst of their kiss, the musicians had started to play a new tune, slow and rather mournful; one Rhaenys had never heard before.

Except that she had. 

Back in Riverrun. Jaime Lannister, filthy and chained, spoke of it. Even hummed a bit for her. _Not fall– destruction. By the will of my lord-father,_ he had said. She broke away from the kiss, her brows furrowed. “Rhaenys, what’s wrong?” Robb asked, cupping her face gently and sweeping a stray curl from her face. Outside, the howl-song begun again. Grey Wind. He had been chained in the kennels for the wedding. “You should sit down,” Robb urged, helping Rhaenys back into the chair. She glanced over to Lady Stark. To her dismay, she appeared apprehensive. Roose Bolton, who had left the hall briefly, returned to his seat. Rhaenys glanced around the great hall; most of the Freys had left after the bedding.

As the song ended, Lord Frey stood once more, raising his goblet to Rhaenys. “To the Queen of Westeros!” He rasped. “Long may she reign!”

At the same moment, Lady Stark rose to her feet, striking Lord Bolton across his face. 

“Mother!?” Robb called out and he started to walk over to where Lady Stark was standing and shaking in anger. Rhaenys then heard the sound of a dagger being unsheathed. She twisted around to see Lothar Frey, brandishing his weapon proudly and smiling wickedly. She stood up quickly, knocking the chair over as she did so. The song. Grey Wind’s howls. Roslin’s tears. The Freys’ sudden leave. It all made sense now.

“Robb!” Rhaenys shrieked, just as Lothar grabbed her by the throat, plunged the blade into her belly, once then twice, and threw her to the ground. Blood gushed from the wound, as fire as bitter and cold as steel overcame her.

“Rhaenys?!” At the sound of Robb’s voice, she tried to stand but the fire burned, and she fell onto her back, turning her head to look at Robb. Around them, a slaughter began. Blades were drawn and crossbows fired. Screams and corpses filled the halls where only moments ago, it had been music, laughter, and love. Rhaenys heard a crossbow fire and saw a bolt pierce his shoulder. Another was shot into his leg and he fell over, just as he tried to rush over to her. 

"No..." Rhaenys whimpered, trying to push herself up from the ground. But everything was hurting, her heart most of all. This wasn't real; it was another nightmare and she begged herself to wake up. "R-Rhaenys.” Robb had crawled over to her, his hand trembling as he placed it over her bleeding and gaping wound. He had an arrow in his side, a second in his leg, a third through his chest. “Don’t leave me…” 

“Y-You n-need to leave...” Rhaenys pleaded, reaching to touch his pale face. Her fingers were ruby red from blood and it stained his cheek. He would live if he left her. He was strong and brave, he could live. “Robb... please...” 

But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Robb held her hand, while his mother's fury seemed to drown out all the rest. “LORD FREY!” Lady Stark screamed, her voice rising like a storm. “Let them go! Let this end!”

“And let that dragonspawn live?!” Lord Frey spat. “A _mad_ queen?! You know _what_ she is, Little Cat!”

“Let them go and she will forsake their claim!” Lady Stark begged. “I swear it!”

“Ha! I thought she already did when she married your son! A traitor and oathbreaker that has befouled your boy!”

“Let them go and I swear that we will forget this! I swear it by the old gods and new! We will take no vengeance!”

“You swear?! YOU SWEAR!” Lord Frey guffawed. “On what honor?!”

“On my honor as a Tully, on my honor as a Stark! Let them go or I will _cut your wife’s throat!_ ”

Walder Frey laughed again. “I’ll find another.”

There was no hope in any of this. “Robb…” Hot tears ran down Rhaenys’ face. Each breath felt like being pricked by thousands of needles, leaving her cold and numb. And her babe. Her thighs felt hot and slick; she could feel her sweet little babe's life bleed along with hers. Rhaenys gazed at Robb, taking in his face for the last time–-his thick red-brown curls, the stubble of his beard, the blue of his eyes that could have put the sky to shame… _Why won’t you leave?!_ She wanted to scream. _You can survive your wounds! Leave and live! They’ll kill you if you don’t…_

But Robb caressed her face softly, tears falling down his face. “I love you, Rhaenys,” he murmured, kissing her forehead. "I'll always love you." She tried to grip this wrist like a manacle, to keep him with her, but her hands felt too heavy.

“The Young Wolf arises!” Lord Frey announced, as Robb stood up weakly and stumbled a few steps closer to the Frey. He grabbed the edge of a table to stead himself. 

“Let Rhaenys go, Lord Frey.” Robb said, his voice as low as a wolf’s growl. 

“She’s as good as dead!” The Frey spat. “Your father was a fool, boy! Letting a dragon into his house! _You_ were a fool, to crown that dragonspawn queen!”

“Kill me if you must but let my wife go…”

“R-Robb!” Rhaenys sputtered. The fire scalded her, but she bit on her tongue until it bled; _fire could not kill a dragon_ ….She rose to her knees, whimpering while her trembling hand found her fatal wound. 

“My son…my first son,” Lady Stark pleaded, as the storm in her voice started to falter. A girl wailed. Joyeuse Frey, forsaken by her own husband. Rhaenys could finally see Lady Stark and the knife she held to the girl’s throat.

“Lord...Frey...please” Rhaenys begged. "Don't... don't hurt him..."

Then, Roose Bolton strode pass her and grabbed Robb by his shoulder, and turned him away from Lord Frey; a dagger glinted in his hand, and the last of life Rhaenys had in her suddenly burned. "LORD BOLTON!” She screeched and sobbed. “Lord Bolton... PLEASE!”

"…Mother?" Robb mumbled, now broken and confused. His eyes flitted to Rhaenys and looked to her poignantly. "Rhaenys?"

“The Lannisters send their regards,” Lord Bolton said, his voice as soft as spiderwebs. He drove the dagger through Robb’s heart, and twisted.

Robb fell to his knees first, his eyes already lifeless. Then he fell dead before Rhaenys. 

“Robb...” She crawled over to him, close to death herself and not caring to fight it--not when the azure eyes she loved so much stared sightlessly into hers. Rhaenys collapsed upon his chest, and a terrible sound filled the hall, worse than any direwolf’s howls. A sound that would have made even the dragons cower. A sound that only died when Roose Bolton knelt beside her and sighed. 

“Jaime Lannister was right... you are hard to kill.” He plunged the same dagger through Rhaenys' back and into her heart. She didn't even feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE YOU YELL AT ME, you know just yell at me because i know i deserve it.
> 
> I ended up watching the red wedding scene again (for the first time in years) to write this chapter. My emo-self cannot be contained.


	34. the wolf and the dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word of Robb's and Rhaenys' death soon made its way to the ears of those they love.

Arya prodded at her porridge with disinterest. She wasn’t hungry, but The Blackfish would be cross with her if she didn’t try to eat. “If you resemble a shadow when your mother returns, she will have my head,” Brynden Tully had muttered. Fortunately for Arya, The Blackfish was Lord of Riverrun in Lord Edmure’s absence and too busy to pay her any heed. She let the spoon fall upon the table with a clatter, abandoning any thought of breaking her fast. 

Nymeria would have finished her hunt by now. But then what? They both explored every stone of Riverrun and its grounds. Arya wasn’t even allowed to ride and venture out into the surrounding lands. _Boring_ , Arya thought to herself as she walked along the sunlit halls. She headed back to her chambers to retrieve Needle; Arya had been practicing every day, just as Syrio Forel taught her. 

_“Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords….”_

As always, Arya found Needle at the bottom of her trunk, hidden under piles of clothes. Her fingers skimmed over its hilt. She wondered if her father would have forced her to marry the Frey boy. _Why does it matter? Father is dead…_

Arya hung her steel on her belt, well hidden by her cloak. She’d get Nymeria and they would go into the godswood and practice. No one would disturb her in the godswood.

Back in the corridors, Arya watched as a Tully guard ran pass her. Then two more followed. "Strange", Arya muttered. The household guard had been rather quiet for the last moon. 

Then she heard men shouting, some cursing. Had the same not happened when The Lannisters took her father and came for her?

Arya swallowed her growing dread, following the guardmen with careful and deft steps. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

They all gathered in a hall, surrounding The Blackfish. Arya had never seen Ser Brynden so angry. “Curse and fuck every one of them!” He spat. “Cowards and murderers! We will use our dying breath to hold this castle and our lands, in the name of our queen and king!”

Arya drew her breath in sharply, moving closer to the men and not caring if she was seen.

“Walder Frey had always a contemptible man,” A guardsman said. “But to murder the queen at his daughter’s wedding!”

_Murder the queen!?_

“NO!” Arya screeched. All the men looked to her.

“Where’s Rhaenys?!” She demanded, her voice shaking like a leaf. “And Robb?! And Mother?!”

But the men only looked to her, all with pity. Arya only grew angrier.

“Why won’t you answer me?!”

Ser Brynden walked over to her and clasped her shoulder. “I’m sorry Arya,” he said. “The Freys killed Robb and Rhaenys. They took your mother and uncle hostage…”

“WHY?!” Arya wailed. The gods already took Father, Bran, and Rickon. Now they had Rhaenys and Robb. Did they ever get tired of taking?!

Arya ran from The Blackfish, from all of them. She ran out the gates and into the courtyard, screaming for Nymeria. Once the wolf ran over to her, Arya buried her head in her neck. 

_Cersei, Tywin, Jaime, Joffery, Maryn Trant, Ilyn Payne, The Hound, Walder Frey…_

—

Joffery was so happy. 

“The traitorous king and his dragonspawn wife! Dead at last!” His bride to be, Margaery Tyrell, seemed joyous as well; yet she’d glance at Sansa with a look of such sorrow.

Today was supposed to be a lighthearted day, as the king and his future queen were presented with their wedding gifts. They’d be wed as soon as the new year arrived, only days away…

So Sansa dressed in her finest gown, one of pale blue and splendid embroidery, and arrived to the Queen’s Ballroom with a look of indifference. Her lord-husband had already told her of the death of Robb and Rhaenys, though she beseeched Tyrion to spare her of how they met their ends. “I will say no more, my good lady,” he promised. 

No other rejoice could have matched that of Queen Cersei. While her precious son was presented with his gifts, she too would occasionally glance at Sansa, waiting and watching for her to turn red-eyed at the thought of her dead brother and good-sister. But Sansa would meet the queen’s gaze with dignity. _Rhaenys would have been more than twice the queen you are,_ ” she thought, as Cersei’s emerald eyes burned into her blue ones. _And Robb a greater king than any that has lived._

Lord Tywin presented his grandson with a Valyrian longsword. It was a handsome one, with a steel of red and black ripples and its scabbard of gold, cherrywood and red leather with golden lions’ heads. The red and black made Sansa think of Rhaenys’ maiden cloak. How Robb tenderly replaced it with one of white and blue. Her brave and kind brother, loyal and dutiful as their father was. And Rhaenys…a sister to her long before she took the name ‘Stark’. 

Joffery examined the blade. “Grandfather, I am no stranger to Valyrian steel,”

“Indeed you are not, Your Grace,” Tywin said. “But as you can see, this is a finely forged blade.”

Joffery skimmed his finger over the smooth of the steel. Then he looked at Sansa. “I shall call it Widow’s Wail,” he announced with a wicked grin. “I heard Robb Stark was killed while Rhaenys Targaryren watched.” He laughed, high and boyish. “The Freys threw his corpse before her as she wept and wailed before her own heart was pierced!”

Sansa said nothing, keeping her head high. Her throat ached from holding back her tears. Joffery chuckled, sheathing his new sword. “Grandfather, you must feel ashamed! It took eighteen years for the Freys to succeed where you failed!”

“The girl is dead. The treacherous family is dead,” Lord Tywin said nonchalantly. “Your rule is truly secured, Your Grace.”

 _You will all die someday,_ Sansa thought. _In the name of my brother and my good-sister, you will all die._

—

Doran wept. 

He heard what some men have called him; _weak_. His own brother called him weak for refusing to raise the banners when Elia and Aegon were murdered in their own home. Weak when he sent his niece to the cold lands of Winterfell to appease the Usurper.

_You are no dornishman, Doran Martell. For the dornish do not waste water..._

Yet, Doran wept. _Rhaenys. Rhaenys. I am so sorry…_

Oh, he should have never sent her north. He should have never sent her from Sunspear, from Dorne, from him.

But then she would have never met her wolf. She would have never known his love. A love Oberyn spoke so richly and purely about. The love that the gods intended for them to have. 

Arianne stormed into Doran’s solar, her dark eyes redder than the sun. She was not weak; yet she was still her father’s daughter.

“Rhaenys is gone. Dead. Murdered!” She spat, standing next to her father’s chair. “Along with her husband and unborn child!”

“The Lannisters’ plot,” Doran rasped. “They must have learned that she was declared the true Queen of Westeros.”

“Tywin succeeded,” Arianne said bitterly. “He killed Elia’s daughter at last.”

Doran tightened his fist, despite the pain from his gout. “He has bled our family for the last time.”

“He will continue to do so unless we kill him!” Arianne hissed. “Him and every Lion, every Frey.”

 _Hot blooded, like her uncle_. Doran thought. _But not what we need now_.“Our armies are still weak from the wars in the riverlands. We cannot strike while we are weak.”

“ _You_ are weak!” Arianne screeched, like a viper rearing its head. “I want vengeance, Father! For Rhaenys and Robb!”

Doran sighed. “Arianne, we cannot be rash. We’ve still more to lose. Your uncle, your brothers, the Sand Snakes. The Lannisters know we will retaliate and they will be a ten-fold ready for us.”

Arianne collapsed onto the chair next to her father’s. She had never looked more defeated. “Our Little Dragon…” she sobbed. Doran reached over to take his daughter’s hand. “Dorne remembers, Arianne. Just as vipers trodden upon, we remember.”

—

Oberyn had been captain of the Second Sons for less than a moon. 

Mero had been easy to kill; always more brawn than brains. The Braavosi man was hardly a challenge. Secretly, Oberyn was disappointed in Mero; he had hoped for a more exciting fight.

There were some men of the Second Sons who remembered him. They attested his fierce reputation to the rest of the members. Swayed by his promise of rich rewards and redemption, they rode with Oberyn to Pentos to seek out the Golden Company.

“What do you need em’ for?” A man called Lorxes grumbled.

“I need more men,” Oberyn said simply. “If my niece is to sit on the Iron Throne at last.”

That night in Pentos, they took wine and meat at an inn.

News from Westeros was seldom heard or cared for. Yet, many Westeroi often ventured east and brought their news with them. A Dornish merchant who had recently arrived from King’s Landing and spoke freely about the death of Lord Stark’s son.

“I hear Joffery hasn't been so pleased since the beheading of Ned Stark,” the merchant said to his companion. 

Dark news was always worse when it came from the mouth of an utter stranger; such was how Oberyn learned that his niece and her husband had been murdered.

The Red Viper stood up abruptly, knocking over a flagon of Dornish Red. He heard the words: King in the North, Stark, wife, dead. His companions started to make their queries, but Oberyn strode over to the merchant’s table. “Repeat your words!” He demanded. “About Robb Stark and his wife!”

The inn grew hushed. Some recognized the Red Viper, the Prince of Dorne. The merchant sputtered. “He was k-killed, my lord! Him and his wife, t-the Targaryen! Slaughtered at a wedding by the Lannisters!”

_No…_

Oberyn looked over to his companions. Only Daemon Sand looked horrified. The Second Sons never knew Rhaenys, the queen they were ready to fight for. Oberyn watched the Dornish Red drip down the table like blood. Then, he stormed out of the inn. 

_My Rhaenys! My Little Sun!_ He thought in agony. _Slaughtered with her child, just like her mother…_

He reached the strands that overlooked the Bay of Pentos and knelt onto the sand. All he wanted was for Rhaenys to live! To live and be happy! To be loved and grow old!

He grabbed a fist full of sand, watching it pour from his trembling hand like water in a stream. Like blood from a wound…

_You worthless gods, why didn’t you take me instead of them?! Elia and Rhaenys, what did they ever do to anger you?!_

Obyern breathed in the sea air. He would continued to gather men, build his armies. Then, he would kill every Lannister and every man that dared to cross Rhaenys.

—

Greywater Watch was a castle like any other, except that it was built upon floating islands that never stood in the same place. That made it near impossible for ravens or enemies to find; and allies, for what matter. Jon had long left the company of Maege Mormont and Galbart Glover, each searching for the stronghold of House Reed along the Green Fork.

Jon hadn’t much luck for some time. Until the gods finally took pity on the luckless bastard.

It was a lonely castle in the fen. Eerie in the swamp fog and covered in moss, reeds and thatches. Ghost prodded his hand with his nose. Jon patted the wolf’s massive head. He’s been acting strangely for the last few days; if Ghost had a voice, Jon was certain the beast would have howled. _The swamp is sinister_ , Jon thought as he gazed at Greywater Watch. 

No guards stood in sight. 

Ghost prodded his hand again. “Ghost, wha–”

Then Jon felt the eyes on him and spun around. Behind him were six crannogmen, clad in heavy furs, wielding three-pronged spears and round leather shields. At the head of them was a woman. She was a short, as the crannogmen were known to be, with bright green eyes and brown hair that fell in messy curls. She too held a spear, right at Jon’s chest.

They were so deft and still. Jon cursed himself for not heeding the chance of being ambushed. Beside him, Ghost soundlessly bared his teeth.

“I am Jyana of House Reed,” the woman spoke. “Who might you be?”

“My name is Jon Snow, my lady. My father was Eddard Stark.”

At the sound of Ned Stark’s name, Lady Reed gazed at Jon intensely, her spear hardly shifting. “Why are you here, Jon Snow?”

“To speak with Lord Howland,” he replied. “My brother Robb should be on his way north–he plans to retake Moat Cailin from the ironborn.”

“Your brother?” Lady Reed repeated. “Robb Stark?”

“Yes,” Jon said. The Lady of Greywater Watch looked upon him with sorrow and lowered her spear. “How long have you been in the fens?”

“I’m not sure, maybe a moon?”

“You wouldn’t have known…” she murmured. Jon grew confused.

“Known what, my lady?”

Lady Reed sighed. “Ravens are a rare sight in Greywater. Yet, they seem to know their way well enough, when they carry words of death… death of lords and kings.”

Jon’s blood grew cold and he looked upon her desperately. “Lady Reed, please, I don’t understand….”

“Robb Stark has been dead for ten days,” Lady Reed said. “Along with his wife.”

_Robb and Rhaenys…dead?_

“No..no that can’t be!” Jon exclaimed. “How could they be dead?”

“The raven came from Riverrun, written by Brynden Tully.” Lady Reed said. “He said they were murdered at the Twins by the Freys.”

 _The wedding!_ Jon thought in dismay. _Walder Frey must have betrayed them for the Lannisters! Just as Lady Stark once feared..._

“My husband has always fought in the name of the Starks,” Lady Reed continued. “This is no reason for him to stop fighting for them.”

But Jon wasn’t listening. He only thought of his half-brother and good-sister. Good and loving to him as any true sibling. He once promised Rhaenys that she would grow old and grey with Robb. Now they were dead. Dead and betrayed.

"Pardon me, my lady," Jon muttered before walking back into the sparse forest of the fen. A rage overcame him, causing tears to sting his eyes…

—

 _She’s gone mad, lost her wits_ : is what the Frey men said about Catelyn Stark.

After her son fell dead before her eyes, she collapsed upon the floor and howled like a she-wolf (nearly as loud as the dragon did, before she too fell dead.) She had been clawing at her face until her tears fell red upon her face. She laughed and howled and one of the Freys begged his liege-lord to make an end.

“We need her alive,” the Lord of the Crossing spat as he finished his wine. “Throw her in a cell with her brother and clean up this mess!”

The men were almost afraid to go near Catelyn Stark. She made long bloody gashes from her brows to her pallid cheeks; she could have been a wraith. She laughed at them too, high and womanly. As they dragged her from the floor, Lady Stark saw the bodies of her son and his wife one last time. Her rampant thoughts became a blood-red fog.

_Lannisters. Freys. Death._

_No mercy. No rest._

_My son. My sweet boy..._

—

“The Stark looks like a Tully,” the Frey commented, as he and his brother dragged the Targaryen’s corpse off from his. “Just as the Targaryen looks like a Martell.”

“That’s funny,” the brother laughed. “So what are we supposed to do with ‘em?”

“Let's throw _him_ in the river,” The Frey suggested. “Isn’t that what the Tullys do?”

“Bit more complicated than that, but who cares. What about her?”

“Don’t know how the Martells handle their dead, but I know the Targaryens burned theirs.”

“That’ll work.”

—

The Karstark men dragged the old knight below the castle.

 _Honorable fool_ , they laughed. One of Bolton’s men lured the knight outside, claiming that Sandor Clegane and his men were on the other side of the river, trying for an attack.

They didn’t want Barristan The Bold ruining their perfect plans. 

Just as the old knight called for his sword, he was ambushed by six men, armed with longswords and daggers.

He was quite a resilient old fool. Ser Barristan hadn’t taken the wine as much as they thought and he had broken the jaws of a couple of men. They didn’t think to kill him however; it was said Joffery was offering quite a pile of gold for the knight.

Once Ser Barristan heard of the deaths of the king and queen, his will seemed to have forsaken him.

For the time being.

—

“Where’s the fucking wolf?” The Bolton man roared. A man had released the beast before they could have killed it. At least a Frey slew the bastard that did it; one of Rhaenys Targaryen’s knights, by the look of him; he was dornish.

The beast had disappeared. Perhaps gone off to die in the woods; a bolt from a crossbow had pierced his shoulder. But despite the wound, the wolf tore the throats of nearly nine Frey men.

The direwolf held no mercy in his heart. Nor would he ever again.

—

The Frey hadn’t any idea of how to build a pyre. They had carried Rhaenys Targaryen’s body to a small clearing away from the castle, to make certain that any stray fires didn’t touch the Twins.

“Just burn her and be done,” the Bolton's man sighed, holding his torch up to illuminate the woman's corpse. Lord Bolton spoke of the touch of madness the she had. She didn't seem mad though-- not at Winterfell, Moat Cailin, or Harrenhal. But orders were orders, and Roose Bolton's may as well be law. 

Then, the man heard the snap of a twig.

“What was that?” He grumbled. “The wolf is dead, right?” 

“Not sure.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?!” The Bolton man spat, waving his torch around. Then, his firelight shown on a man. He wore loose red robes and looked to the men with unbridled anger.

—

They threw Robb Stark into the river. 

He had been submerged in the cold waters for the rest of the night. When the sun rose at the morning's light, his wolf found him and dragged his body from the watery grave. 

From the forest emerged a man with red-gold hair and a weary face. The direwolf started to growl at him, but the man did not flee and neither did his companions.

—

On the third day of death, Rhaenys Targaryen opened her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like, don't dox me.
> 
> Someone called me crueler than GRRM. I made it kids. My parents will be so proud of me.  
> In my defense, GRRM killed Rhaenys when she was three and Robb is still fcking dead. So yeah.
> 
> Ancient proverb: don't like, don't read. (which never made sense b/c how would you know if you don't like it if you don't read it ????)
> 
> To those who are still reading even after the last chapter: i appreciate you and i'm happy you haven't given up on me and this fanfic.


	35. let her have vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "On the third day of death, Rhaenys opened her eyes."

There was a light. Brighter than the sun. Brighter than any fire.

But when Rhaenys opened her eyes, she was greeted by darkness. 

She gaped at the ceiling and breathed in the still air, cold and sweet in her throat and lungs. Her surroundings slowly became apparent. There were dim firelights, barely illuminating the chamber. She was lying on a bed of soft furs. Then terror coursed through her. In the blood-red brume that were gory memories, Rhaenys remembered: Lothar Frey’s grin, Walder Frey’s laughter, Catelyn Stark’s pleads, Roose Bolton’s betrayal, Robb’s kiss, Robb’s final words, Robb’s sightless blue eyes...

Her breathing became heavy, the darkness suddenly stifling. Rhaenys sat up, her nails digging into the furs. This was a cave, not a chamber. Her bed had been a stone floor covered in tattered furs stained with mud and blood. She looked down at herself; her gown was black with dried blood and her belly felt hollow 

_Oh no. No. no. no._

Rhaenys clamped her hand over her mouth as she started to sob. 

Robb was dead. He would never return to her, no matter how long she kept watch for him. 

Two men rushed into the cave.“She’s awake!” One of them shouted, running back outside. The other men only looked at her. Even through the blur of tears, Rhaenys recognized the man; tall and paunchy, garbed in the same pale red robes. “T-Thoros?” She stammered. Thoros of Myr. The red priest who came to Riverrun. The demon worshipper that claimed to have seen her in his fires.

“Rhaenys,” he said, his voice tired. Thoros walked over to her carefully and knelt on the floor next to her.. “As much as i’m glad our paths have crossed again, I would have preferred it not like this. Any way but this...”

“W-Why am I here?!” She wept, her voice ragged. “I should be dead!” _Why aren’t I dead?! Wasn’t I dead?!_ She was dying even before Roose Bolton drove the dagger through her back. She may as well have been dead when Robb fell before her-- Bolton ran his blade through her heart twice…

“Dead you were, Rhaenys Targaryen, for nearly three days time.” Thoros said. “On the third day, by R'hllor’s will, you were returned to this world.”

 _Dead for three days. Returned to this world._ “I d-don’t understand!”

“The good god’s songs, my lady.” Thoros replied. “With His kiss.”

Rhaenys was certain the gods Old and New had forsaken her, but for a demon god to have returned her to life…

“Y-You said i’ve been dead for three days!”

“Aye. I found the Freys trying to burn you.” He spat. “I slew them and with your body, we spent the night and day fleeing from your enemies’ eyes and ears. We found this cave only yesterday. Even after the Kiss, it took a another day for your wounds to fully heal.”

Rhaenys stared at the man, tears falling down her cheeks. She was cold and clammy, heartbroken and all but demented. “Where’s Robb?” She asked, a slight of hope lifting her heavy heart. “You can bring him b-back, like you brought me back! Can’t you bring him back?!” She must have sounded like a begging child and she didn’t care.

But Thoros looked at her with much sorrow. “Oh, I would have, my good lady. I would have brought your king back to you. The men of the brotherhood searched for your wolf but…” He shook his head. “He was nowhere to be found. I am sorry. I am truly sorry.”

Such cruel hope. 

_He said the Freys tried to burn me…_ Rhaenys thought. _What could they have done with Robb?! Had they burned him?! He should be in Winterfell, with his father and brothers…_ Rhaenys wrapped her arms around herself, trying to smother the chill. Her baby had been long dead, bled out by the Frey’s dagger before death claimed her for as short as it did. Her Elia or Eddard; taken from her once again. _Robb, they murdered our baby!_

“W-What happened to Lady Stark?” She dared to ask. “And Ser Barristan, Lord Edmure, The Greatjon, Dacey..” 

Thoros hesitated, so though he foolishly thought to guard her from further misery. “It was a slaughter,” he replied solemnly. “I heard Lord Tully was to wed a Frey and was accompanied to the Twins by you and the Starks. We were encamped along the Green Fork and when we heard the screaming and the wolf…we knew something was terribly wrong.”

_All dead. They were all dead…_

“I’ll fetch you a cloak, Your Grace--”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” She spat at the red priest. She was no queen. Not anymore. The Freys, Lannisters, and Boltons made sure of that. They murdered her king, her little heir, the men and women who pledged their swords to her. They all said they would have die for her; now they were dead because of her.

“Queen you will be, Rhaenys Targaryen,” Thoros murmured. “I saw it in the flames.”

“I don’t care about your flames!” She hissed. “You had no right!! You should have left me to my death-- maybe I would have found Robb again!"

“It wasn’t your time!” Thoros insisted. “When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone,” he said, as though he had been carrying those words for years and years. “The star has bled and summer has ended. Your fate is in the fires, Rhaenys Targaryen. I know what I saw. Cleansed, shall be the world, with fire and blood--”

“Vengeance,” a small voice said. Rhaenys and Thoros turned to the cave’s mouth, where a boy stood. In the dim light, he had pale blond hair and dark eyes. 

“You want vengeance, my lady,” The boy said again, approaching them carefully. He had what looked like a dress draped over his arm and a leather flask in his other hand. 

“What do you know about vengeance?” Rhaenys asked the boy; he couldn’t have been more than twelve. What terrors and monsters could he have seen to pour malice and sorrow his youthful soul? As he approached her, she saw the dark blue of his eyes in the light; they could have been purple.

“I’m Dornish, my lady.” He simply replied. 

“My lady, this is Edric Dayne,” Thoros said. “Though, we call him Ned…”

Edric Dayne--Lord Dayne’s son. “I remember you.” Rhaenys said quietly. “You came to Sunspear. You were two. I held you once.”

Ned looked to her shyly. “So my mother said.”

“Y-You’re heir to Starfall…why are you here?”

“I was Lord Beric Dondarrion's squire, my lady. I was with him when Lord Stark sent men to hunt down The Mountain in the riverlands.” He suddenly looked sad. “When the brotherhood was ambushed at the Mummer’s Ford a few moons ago, we were separated from Lord Beric and our other men. Haven’t seen them since.”

He handed her the leather skin. “Tom said he’s warmed it for you. He’s also found you a clean dress.”

Rhaenys unstopped the flask and realized it was ale. “Thank you….Ned.”

“Are you going to kill the Lannisters and Freys?” Ned asked excitedly.

“Alright, that’s enough Dayne!” Thoros grunted, shooing him out. The boy ran out and Thoros sighed. Rhaenys drank the heated ale, glad for the way it burned her throat. 

“Easy, my lady.” The red priest said, as she emptied the flask in little time. Rhaenys dropped the hollow skin upon the furs; nothing could have burnt away her anguish.

"I loved him," she whimpered. "I loved him so much…."

\---

After Thoros left the cave, Rhaenys stripped herself of the bloodied blue gown and held it before her, staring at the red ruined thing; the blood of herself, the blood of her baby, the blood of Robb. She took a heavy breath and casted the gown aside; Thoros mentioned that she should burn it.

Rhaenys glanced down, her fingers skimming the crimson scar on her naked belly; Lothar’s dagger. She couldn’t see it, but she knew it was there--the scar on her back from Lord Bolton’s dagger.

When she put the dark grey dress on, only then did she notice that her silver chain of tiny winter roses was gone. _The Freys must have taken it_ , she lamented, as she fastened the heavy black hooded cloak around her. She always loved the winter roses of the North. Whenever Robb was hunting and found them growing wild, he would present her with one. Jon and Theon used to tease him mercilessly, for returning from a hunt with flowers. 

Rhaenys knelt on the cave floor and started to weep again, her stone heavy heart aching in her chest. 

The first Rhaenys died alone in Dorne. Either crushed by her own dragon after he fell or tortured to death beneath Hellholt.; no one was ever quite sure. The second Rhaenys was burnt to death during the Dance of the Dragons. Rhaegar died in the Trident, his life bleeding into the river. Rhaella died while giving birth, exiled in her own castle. Elia also died in her own home, raped and bones shattered.

They were Targaryens and Targaryens died alone.

Had she been brought back to life to die alone? She would never take another lover or bore a living child. Never. It was always Robb. Her playmate, her friend, her husband, her king, her wolf, her dearest love. 

Vengence. She wanted vengeance. She wanted the Lannisters, Freys, and Boltons dead. Their houses and words but a black memory. Their lords and names but a curse in the night. Their final words ones of pathetic mercy and bloody tongues. She will burn their world to black and ash, to show them how it felt when Robb fell dead before her, when his heart was pierced by a traitor’s dagger. How it felt to lose all that she loved.

In a world of men so cruel, she would have to be crueler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just making everyone sad at this point; including myself.
> 
> And yes, Beric Dondarrion isn't with Thoros. Follow me for your daily dose of angst.
> 
> Todays's chapter was brought to you by "vengeance" - zack hemsey.


	36. the brothers without banners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys is now in the company of the bannerless brothers.

Rhaenys left the cave at last, narrowing her eyes as the sunlight fell upon her. Perhaps it was a beautiful day, but such a benison was lost on her; and such would be for a long time. There was a slight chill in the air, though not as icy as the one that was overtaking her. Her hands shook but not from any cold. The men of the brotherhood without banners looked to her, many bowing their heads in respect. They all heard the story, the same story nearly every child in Westeros had been told; how Princess Elia and her infant son were slaughtered by the Lannisters, how her daughter Rhaenys survived and lived. The Last Dragon’s daughter, The Young Wolf’s wife--stood before them was a shadow of the woman they had heard of. 

Rhaenys took a sharp breath as she recognized one of the men. “Alyn?”

“Lady Rhaenys,” Alyn greeted her sadly, his soft blue eyes tinged with red. Rhaenys looked upon the Stark man in wonder; she hadn’t seen him since he left Winterfell with Lord Stark for King’s Landing. He came into the Starks' service when Rhaenys was still a maid; a jolly and handsome red-haired men who held dreams of knighthood. Now, Alyn seemed years older as he walked over to her. Lord Stark must have him sent to to war in the riverlands as well; his freckled face now bore a jagged red scar across his nose and there was that harrowing look in his eyes. The sight of such a familiar northern face returned Rhaenys to tears; she threw her arms around him, sobbing as he steadied her.

“Bolton betrayed us!” Rhaenys wailed, grief and rage overwhelming her heart. “He betrayed us and _HE KILLED ROBB_ !”

“Easy now, my lady,” Alyn warned, as birds fled from the trees at the sound of Rhaenys’ screaming. “You need to rest…”

“What for?” Rhaenys asked bitterly, pulling away from him. “I’ve rested enough. I’ve been dead for three days…”

She looked upon the men of the brotherhood; a mismatch of broken men and disheartened fighters. Rhaenys wrapped her cloak tighter around her. “What will happen now?”

“We now fight in your name, Rhaenys Targaryen,” a brawny man spoke. The man was called Lem and he had a bushy brown bread and was clad in a faded yellow cloak. “And that of your king, Robb Stark.” Around him, many men grunted in approval.

“I don’t want a fight-- I want a slaughter!” Rhaenys retorted.“I want vengeance for Robb and his house! I want vengeance for North!”

A heartbroken widow. A crownless queen. A malicious soul. Such was the woman Thoros of Myr had brought back from death. 

“And you shall have it!” Alyn vowed, his blue eye burning for his homelands and the house he was sworn to.“By the grace of the gods, old, new, and red, you shall have it!” 

\---

Night fell and they were sat around a roaring fire near the cave’s mouth. A deer had been shot and and killed skillfully by a red-haired youth called Anguy. The smell of roasting meat did nothing to quicken Rhaenys’ appetite. She only settled in a place before the fire, listening as the men shared quiet laughs and they passed around bottles of ale. Ned Dayne and Thoros sat on either side of her; the latter had finally abandoned his attempt to get Rhaenys to eat.

She learned that they were west of the Green Fork; Seagard was less than a fortnight’s ride away. Thoros proposed that they venture to the town for supplies and news before taking a boat to the Saltpans. “It will be safe for you in Dorne, while your armies are gathered,” Thoros explained.

Dorne. Sunspear. Doran. Arianne, Quentyn, and Trystane. Ellaria and the Sand Snakes. Rhaenys wanted nothing more than to be with them, to feel their embraces once more, to let the Dornish heat sink into her skin. Yet, that journey would take so many moons-- her enemies did not deserve such a long period of rest and ease.

“My uncle Oberyn had gone across the Narrow Sea, to Braavos.” Rhaenys said. “To recruit sellswords. Surely, that would be a shorter journey to take.”

Thoros considered this. “A possibility.”

 _Oberyn must think i’m dead_ , Rhaenys realized, to her horror. Her uncle would be devastated; to think he had lost her as he had lost Elia… 

“Perhaps it would be better for Lady Rhaenys leave Westeros,” Lem agreed. “Once the Freys and Boltons and Lannisters discovers she’s still alive, they will stop at nothing to hunt her down.”

Tom of Sevenstreams snorted. “I wouldn’t want to be the page that brings Tywin Lannister _that_ news.” He plucked at his woodharp as he spoke.

“Hasn’t he heard?” Rhaenys said, her voice dark and sullen. “I’m hard to kill.”

“More reason to fear you,” Alyn said, looking at Rhaenys from across the fire. “In case they hadn’t created enough reasons already...”

Rhaenys suddenly remembered words that Jaime Lannister had said to her in Winterfell, so many moons ago: _“you’ve lost your family, your house, and your title... you’ve wrong no one, but there are people who’ve wronged you.”_

“Twice,” Rhaenys murmured. “They’ve twice wronged me…”

“There has never existed a greater mistake,” Ned Dayne said, offering her a piece of the venison. Rhaenys looked at the still-eyed boy and relented, taking the meat from him and thanking him quietly.

“Yes, perhaps Essos would prove a wiser decision,” Thoros decided. 

\---

It was morning but the sun hadn’t even shown yet. Thoros wanted Rhaenys to rest longer, but his fear of remaining in the riverlands won out. So he roused Rhaenys from her dreamless and hollow sleep, speaking of their ride to Seagard.

Rhaenys hadn’t been on a horse in moons; but now the thought of riding once more only embittered her. She was supposed to ride out into the riverwoods on her mare, with Robb attempting to outrace her-- their baby sleeping soundly in a cradle or in Lady Stark’s arms. 

Lem drew Rhaenys’ hood over her head, before helping her on Alyn’s horse. “Remember, you’re a bastard from the crownlands,” he told her. “Plenty of bastard girls from King’s Landing share your coloring.”

“Why not Dorne?” Ned Dayne asked, mounting his horse.

“Because not many Sands venture this far north-west, boy,” Lem replied. “Makes hiding in foe’s sight a bit less dangerous.”

A bastard. Like Jon Snow. In her cold and heavy heart, Rhaenys found a wisp of relief from knowing that Jon had gone north to Greywater-- far away from the Freys’ blades, the Bolton’s betrayal, and the Lannister’s treachery. _I’ll find him again, someday_. Rhaenys thought, as an icy wind brushed her cheeks. _Him and Sansa and Arya…no god can stop me--not anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short.


	37. the hangman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb Stark was dead-- until he wasn’t.

Robb Stark was dead. 

Until he wasn’t.

He awoken at the river’s edge, his first breath one of cold morning air. The sun glinted through the trees, beating away the fog. Robb stared at the pale blue sky, his thoughts a muddle of red and fire. His clothes and skin felt cold and drenched. 

“He’s awake,” a man murmured.

 _Am I?_ Robb thought. He slowly sat up, aware of the men that had gathered around him. The direwolf whined, nuzzling Robb’s neck. _Grey Wind?_ He ran his trembling fingers along the fur of the wolf’s neck; then he noticed the raw wound on Grey Wind’s shoulder. 

“Lord Robb,” the man voice spoke again.

But at the sight of his wolf’s wound, Robb suddenly became aware of his own; the bolts that had pierced his shoulder and leg, and the dagger that Lord Bolton ran through his heart. The vile traitor, Roose Bolton, making sure the Lannisters’ regards were the last thing Robb had heard. That and the screams and pleas of Rhaenys...

_Rhaenys!_

Betided with a biting terror, Robb rose to unsteady feet, looking around him wildly. _Where is she?!_ One of the men reached out to help steady him, but he pulled away from his reach, nearly stumbling. “Where’s Rhaenys?!” Robb demanded. He had begged Lord Frey to spare her, to let her live... 

Then the world was gone, with a bite so cold and red. 

_She’s alive! She has to be!_ “Where is she?!” Robb spat, as the men only looked at him. “Do you fools not speak?!” Grey Wind started to whine again, low and harrowing.

The man who first spoke to him sighed heavily. He looked so familiar, but Robb did not spare a second thought to such. “My lord, I am sorry, but she’s gone...”

Robb’s breathing grew heavy, the cold air harsher as any winter’s. _NO that can’t be! Rhaenys! My Rhaenys. My dragon…_

“Rhaenys lives!” He insisted angrily, glaring at him. “You don’t know her! She’s willful and clever and…and…” Yet he could still feel her warm blood beneath his hand, as her life and child bled from her. Her dusky skin had gone pallid and cold to the touch, her voice a painful whisper-- she was dying.

“But I _did_ know her, my lord,” the man said, his grey eyes heavy with sadness. “In Winterfell, I knew a girl so willful and clever, playful and kindhearted; and I knew you loved her more than anything in this world...”

Robb stared at him in despair. He began to recognize the gaunt and brown-haired man; back in the North, he had always been clean-shaven--now he was as bearded as any northernman. “Harwin?” Hullen’s son. He had watched the Stark children, as well as Rhaenys, Jon and Theon, grow. 

“Lord Stark,” he replied, softly clasping Robb’s unwounded shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Rhaenys…” His beautiful and willful wife. _Dead._

“We need to leave here, my lord,” a man behind Harwin murmured. “If the Freys find you once more, we have no way to bring you back.”

“Bring me back?” Robb echoed, his mind dull. 

“Beric Dondarrion.” Harwin replied. “He found you by the river. You had been dead for a night.”

Another man spoke. “Harwin recognized you, said you were Ned Stark’s son. Then Beric put his lips to you and passed along his flame of life. Beric’s dead now…said he was tired and that you have unfinished deeds to attend to. He knew you wouldn’t waste his life.”

Dead for a night. Beric Dondarrion. The flame of life. None of it made sense.

Of course nothing made sense. Rhaenys was dead.

\---

After Beric Dondarrion was buried, the brotherhood without banners retreated deeper into the forest, as far from the river as possible. They were east of the Green Fork, edging along the Kingsroad. They rested often, though never daring to remain in the same place for long. Robb’s heart had bled out; surely it still ailed him. His heart did torment him, but Harwin knew well enough that it wasn’t because of Lord Bolton’s dagger.

When night fell, they were encamped in a thicket. The men started their fire and their hunts while Robb sat away from them, Grey Wind by his side. 

Robb was alive. His men, his mother, his wife, and his child were dead. The Freys and Boltons had betrayed them and aligned with the Lannisters.

That was all he knew. 

Robb shut his eyes and rested his cold hand on Grey Wind’s head. He was King in the North until he gave up his crown for Rhaenys. He was her King of Westeros until they killed her. He was dead until he wasn’t….

Dying had been strange. The world was black until it wasn’t. Robb could dimly recall the dark of the night, the howling of a beast and the blood of men. Had he been shot twice in the shoulder with a bolt? He couldn’t remember; the world had gone black again, for a last time. Until he saw light….

Robb wished Beric Dondarrion left him to his death, so he could find his beloved dragon again. He could still remember the frightened and mournful young girl who came to Winterfell. _“Please, be kind to her, Robb,”_ His lord-father had said, when he spoke of her arrival and their betrothal. _“She has seen sorrows that fully grown men would never know.”_

_“I will, Father,”_ seven-year old Robb promised. 

It wasn’t until he was older that Robb truly understood the sorrows that had beset Rhaenys Targaryen; her mother and brother butchered in their castle, her grandfather mad and bloodthirsty and killed for it, her father stealing away Lyanna Stark and killing her for no reason, her father’s own death in the river, her grandmother’s exile and lonesome death. The fall of her great house. Rhaenys was left alone to witness the ruins, to be called dragonspawn and wanted dead by King Robert and the Lannisters.

Yet and yet, Rhaenys was so kind. She had such a good and brave heart-- the Mother and Maiden would have wept at such a virtue. A woman’s kindness was always taken for granted, even dismissed as a reason for her softness. But it must have taken such courage to be so kind in a world that was so cruel.

Robb’s eyes burned with tears. _Rhaenys, i’m so sorry! I left you alone..._ How many times had he promised her that she would never be alone again? A sob rose in his throat-- he wanted her in his arms again, to kiss her until they were breathless, to hear her laugh as she rode through the wolfswood, to watch snowflakes melt in her night-black hair as she looked upon snowfall in wonder.

If only Beric Dondarrion had found her instead of him...

And what had they done with Rhaenys? He had been thrown into the river; if Bolton wanted her dead, then he wouldn’t have a thought of giving her a proper resting place…

Behind him, he could hear the hushed voices of the brotherhood; only Harwin was fortunate to have known Rhaenys. To the rest of the men, she was just another dead Targaryen.

“Poor girl,” Dennett muttered, taking a large swig from his flask of wine. “Killed because of her dragonblood, wasn’t she?”

“That and her crown,” Mudge said. “I heard the rumors, that Stark crowned her Queen of Westeros at Riverrun.”

“What, a woman ruling Westeros? Gods rest her soul, but still...” Dennett snorted.

“She had a true claim,” Harwin said. “Her father was the crown prince Rhaegar. Truthfully, she would have been a better ruler than the Lannister bastard and even Stannis Baratheon.”

“You northerners are a strange folk,” Dennett sighed. “You give your women too much rein.”

“Don’t matter now,” the one-eyed Jack-Be-Lucky grunted. “We’re stuck with the idiot Joffery. What happened to Stannis anyway?”

\---

Robb rose at last, returning to the where the brotherhood had gathered. In the firelight, he was deathly pale, perhaps from being under water for so long, and his azure eyes were flints of ice; heartless and harrowed. The whites of his eyes were red from tears, and dark shadows girded them. Grey Wind stood by him, his yellow eyes glinting with malice. 

“Lord Beric claimed I wouldn’t waste his life,” he spoke.

“Aye, my lord,” Mudge replied. 

“Then he knew of what I would want to do now.” 

The Lannisters. The Boltons. The Freys. The Greyjoys. They slaughtered his family, his dragon, his life. Robb would lay chase and ruin to every man, every monster, that had dared to cross him, to betray him, to tear Rhaenys away from him. He would bleed them until they were whiter and colder than snow, have his direwolf break their skin with teeth, take their heads from their necks and hang them high for all to see and to know.

 _Rhaenys, I will meet you again someday_ , Robb thought forlornly. _I’ll have you in my arms again…until then, I have your death to avenge._

\---

Petyr Frey was always an idiot-- a bumbling luckless fool. _Of course_ he got captured by outlaws while wandering around Oldstones. _What was he even doing in Oldstones?_ Merrett Frey thought, as he spurred his horse to the ruins. _If Petyr wanted to be useful for once, then he should have gone to Riverrun._

Merrett didn’t really want to ride all the way to Oldstones just to deliver his great-nephew’s ransom; but perhaps if he did, he would win finally some favor within his house. His father had laughed merrily at his request before relenting. Lord Frey had been in high spirits since Roslin's wedding. He had reason to; the Freys now held Riverrun, gifted to them by Tywin Lannister.

Perhaps allying with Roose Bolton wasn’t such a terrible thing. The Lord of the Dreadfort had betrayed the Starks simply because of Robb Stark’s wife, the Targaryen. 

_“Rhaenys Targaryen is nothing more than a cuckoo fledgling in Ned Stark’s nest.”_ The Bolton said to Lord Frey. _“A Dornish girl as Queen in the North had been a jest all on its own. Now they crown her Queen of All Westeros-- a Targaryen back on the Iron Throne? The Mad King’s granddaughter? Robb Stark has turned the North into a mummer’s farce…”_

So Lord Bolton plotted with the blessings of Walder Frey, who in turn was eager to hinder the return of the Targaryen dynasty and to win favor of the Lannisters once more. _They’ve done rather well,_ Merrett thought, chuckling to himself. At the sight of King Tristifer’s sepulcher, he stopped and dismounted his horse. After making sure the bag of gold was secured on his belt, he searched for the outlaws who held his kin. Merrett circled the great ruins twice, but the broken men and his great-nephew were no where to be found.

Finally, near the edge of the woods near Oldstones, he saw something strange. Swallowing his fear, Merrett started to approach the tree that had caught his eye. Tales of the ghosts of Oldstones crept into his mind before he cursed them away.

From the tree, Merrett found his great-nephew hanging, his neck broken and bruised from the noose. Petyr’s head was grotesquely resting on his shoulder. One of his arms had been mauled, leaving behind a ruined stump at his elbow. Merrett flinched away but before he could have fled from the horrid sight, two men grabbed him by his arms and forced him to his knees.

“What are you doing?!” Merrett spat. “I have your gold! Why’d you kill him?!”

“We don’t want your fucking gold, Frey!” A man called Notch laughed, dangling a noose in Merrett’s face. 

The Frey cursed them. “Release me now, you bannerless bastards!”

“For what reason?” Dennett spat. “You gonna cut another baby from its mother’s womb?”

Merrett twisted his neck to look into the outlaws' faces. “What are you talking about?!”

“The Targaryen,” another man spoke. He was stocky, balding, weak-chinned, and wielded an ax in one hand. “Your father had her murdered.”

“What, her?!” Merrett rasped. “That wasn’t murder! That was _mercy_ for the realm! The Targaryens were a house of madmen and fire hungry fiends! I for one did not want another mad queen ruling over me!”

Notch spat before tying the noose around Merrett’s fleshy neck. “I didn’t kill her!” Merrett screeched. “I didn’t kill anyone! You have no witness!”

From the shadows, a monstrous yellow-eyed beast emerged, baring his bone-white teeth at the Frey. Merrett’s eyes widen with horror. _No, no it can’t be!_ He was certain the creature had died in the woods! Merrett cowered as the direwolf strode over to where he knelt; he felt its hot breath on his face and saw the blood stains on his white teeth.

“Grey Wind,” a familiar voice spoke, as low as the wolf’s growl.

As the beast stalked away, Merrett Frey saw the man he knew to have been dead.

 _Gods old and new, what jest is this!?_ He thought in terror.

Robb Stark looked upon the Frey with rancor, his blue eyes burning like ironwood. 

“Merrett Frey. I remember you.”

“Y-You were dead!! Merrett wailed. “Dead!” He had watched Roose Bolton plunge his steel into the Stark’s heart and watched as his brothers threw his corpse into the river.

“Once,” Robb said coldly as he approached Merrett. “Then you killed my wife.”

“I didn’t kill her!” The Frey insisted, wanting to turn away from the Stark’s pallid face and terrible wrathful eyes. “Roose Bolton drew the dagger! I only watched!”

Robb turned to the men of the brotherhood. “He was the watcher!” He said, as the men laughed. “Pity he wasn’t here to watch his kin die…” 

Merrett started to struggle in his bonds and noose. He was going to die that day; killed by a dead man’s hands. “If you slay me, Stark, my father will send men to find me!”

“Oh, I hope for such,” Robb said, looking down at Merrett. “I will feed them to the crows as well.” He glanced at Petyr Frey, who was swaying in the wind, his torn arm dangling pathetically. “Watch him, Lord Merrett. He threw a stone at a direwolf-- look what happened to him…”

He returned his gaze to the Frey. Merrett wanted to shut his eyes, turn away, anything to avoid the Stark's malicious gaze. “You called my sweet wife mad and watched as she was murdered for a lie--that can’t be compared to any stone thrown.”

Merrett started to plead for mercy as the Stark wrenched him to his feet and tightened the rope around his neck.

“ _MERCY?!_ ” Robb hissed, his voice like shattering ice, taking the Frey by his already tauten throat, digging his fingers into his soft flesh.

“Where was _mercy_ when I begged your father for Rhaenys’ life!? No Lord Merrett, your house will never know mercy again!”

Merrett tried to speak another word but the rope and the Stark’s grip were choking him. 

The Young Wolf wanted his wife alive, or the men who killed her dead. 

The crows would enjoy their feasts for a long time...

“Hang him!” Robb Stark spat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I COULDN'T KEEP ROBB DEAD WHO DO YOU THINK I AM
> 
> Please don't expect anymore Robb POVs anytime soon. I just wanted to write this one to let you know that he's alive and doing his thing. This whole fic was mainly Rhaenys' POV and I want to keep it like that.
> 
> It isn't an ASOIAF/GOT fanfic without that hint of dramatic irony (is that what its called? I haven't taken a lit or english class in years). Its painful but Angst™ 
> 
> Also, I found this cover of The Hanging Tree by someone called Freya Catherine and i'm obsessed. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWkox2jckBk


	38. the crownlands bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much had happened in Westeros during their fortnight’s ride to Seagard. And Rhaenys had always been a willful girl.

_{302 AC}_

The sea was vicious that morning, a gloomy mirror of the grey morning. Dark waves tossed and threatened to turn over the small trading ship, _The Sea Girl_. Despite this, Rhaenys wasn’t afraid; she was no stranger to fear and a stormy sea was nothing. From below the deck, she listened to the tempest’s song, her only company the rows of barrels destined for else where. Trading had all but halted in the war ravaged riverlands. _The Sea Girl‘s_ captain, a burly dark-haired man called Walvin was one of the few traders in Seagard who still had a route to the Iron Islands; in that day’s case, the island Harlaw.

Rhaenys rested her head against the wooden wall of the ship, clutching at the woolen blanket that Walvin’s wife, Matila, gave her. She cursed the gods, every one that existed, for sending her west instead of east. Yet, Rhaenys would have cursed and damned herself if she had sailed to Braavos instead of Harlaw…

The journey to Seagard had been taken to gather supplies before traveling for Saltpans. From there, she and the bannerless brothers would have found a ship to Braavos. 

But much had happened in Westeros during their fortnight’s ride to Seagard. 

At their first night at an inn’s tavern, they heard the recent word from King’s Landing. The news itself was days and days old, yet it was still spoken of as if it had happened the previous day.

Joffery was dead– poisoned at his own wedding feast as the new year dawned.

 _Joffery was dead_ ! Dead at last! Oh how Rhaenys wanted to smile and laugh and cry with joy, to revel in the thought of his distraught Lannister mother crying over his cold dead body. 

And Rhaenys did weep, at the longtable she shared with the men of the brotherhood, her face hidden in her hands–but as she had done for the last fortnight, she wept for Robb.

Joffery was dead, but so was Robb. What did it matter? The Lannisters still ruled, another would take his brother’s place. What did it matter? Was happiness so far gone from Rhaenys that she could not take joy from that monster’s death? What did it matter? Such joy would have been short-lived, regardless. 

Because on the next day, Alyn brought her news from the North: Roose Bolton had been named Warden of the North, his bastard son Ramsay legitimized by King Tommen Baratheon.

 _The North belongs to Sansa!_ Rhaenys spat. The betrayer, the murderer Roose Bolton! Richly rewarded by the same house he once called his enemy–- if he ever even did.

She hadn’t even been given the _worse_ news; Ramsay Bolton had been betrothed to Arya Stark.

No other words could have violently turned Rhaenys’ mind away from Braavos, from reuniting with her uncle, from overseeing the growth of her new armies. Ramsey Bolton was a monster like his father! Their house was one of monsters, murderers, rapers, butchers Now Arya was being forced to marry him?!

 _There’s nothing else that can be done_ , Thoros said. _The Freys had taken Riverrun and must have seized the poor girl and…she is surely on her way to Winterfell as we speak._

Rhaenys grew desperate. Pleading to the red priest and his men. Arya was still a girl! Roose Bolton murdered her mother and brother! Ramsay would do terrible and unspeakable things unto her! 

But Thoros, as grieved as he was to hear of Arya Stark’s fate, would not relent. _We ride for the Saltpans on the morrow, my lady. As is, we are no match for any Bolton forces…_

Such was how, in a black fury, Rhaenys took whatever supplies she could and deserted the botherhood on the morrow’s dawn, walking along Seagard’s docks until she found a seafarer sailing north.

Roose Bolton had bled enough wolves. No Bolton would ever touch a Stark again.

Rhaenys had been fortunate enough to find the trader Walvin with his wife, Matila, readying their ship for their voyage to Harlaw.

“Why would a lass as yourself want to sail north?” Matila asked. She was ironborn herself, with shorn red-hair and lidded grey eyes. Despite Rhaenys’ contempt for the ironborn, she was glad for the silver of warmth in Matila’s gaze.

“Work,” Rhaenys replied. “I heard Winterfell is in need of serving girls.”

Walvin looked at her closely. “Where are you from? Not many Dornish girls come this far north…”

“King’s Landing.” Rhaenys said, her lies long set in her mind and tongue. “My mother was Dornish–not sure about my father…House Rosby maybe…”

“Ah. The brothels in King’s Landing love Dornish women…”

Rhaenys gritted her teeth, ashamed of reducing her mother, the woman who should have been queen, to a common whore.

Matila glared at her husband before turning to look at Rhaenys. “Tell you what, lass, we’re only sailing to Harlaw. We can take you that far. If you’re lucky, you’ll find ships on their way to Deepwood Motte. There has been plenty these days…”

“The Greyjoy fleets?” Rhaenys guessed.

“Aye,” Matila replied. “But they’re certainly not one for stowaways. Try their supply ships, captained by lower bannermen.”

“Try lifting your skirts,” Walvin suggested, before his wife swatted his ear. 

“Just a joke, lass,” he said hastily as Matila sighed.

“Forgive my husband. He takes comfort in humorless jests.”

“Thank you,” Rhaenys said, glad to have secured passage so easily.

“Truthfully, lass, your coloring reminds me of the Queen in the North,” Matila said, and Rhaenys’ heart began to hammer wildly, “Rumor has it that she slew The Mountain at Harrenhal.”

“Imagine that!” Walvin exclaimed. “A righteous vengeance, after what that monster did to the Princess Elia and her baby.”

Rhaenys said nothing as Matila sighed. “I heard the Targaryen was killed by Walder Frey. Her and the King in The North. That girl had more spine than most men–even some ironborn ones! Shame she had to die so young…”

Walvin shook his head. “Shame,” he echoed, looking at Rhaenys. “So, what is your name, lass?”

“Elly Waters.”

—

Harlaw was the most wealthy and populous of the Iron Islands. The port was a busy one indeed, perhaps do to the several Greyjoy longships docked there. After Rhaenys bode farewell to Walvin and Matila, she quickly started her search for a ship heading north. In the distance, she saw the Harlaw’s towering castle, the Ten Towers. 

Theon Greyjoy’s mother was a Harlaw woman; Jory had told Rhaenys that the woman had gone mad after the death of her elder sons during the Greyjoy rebellion. Rhaenys sighed, tugging her black cloak tighter to her. The cold winds of the sea seemed more brisk than those of the North and riverlands.

Several passerby had already started to give Rhaenys strange looks; a Dornish girl in the Iron Islands was an odd sight indeed. She gave them no heed and started for the docks where the Greyjoy ships were. The ships of the Iron Fleet were massive, their great sails inky black and emblazoned with a dark yellow kraken.

Several men had been standing around, their cloaks baring the Greyjoy sigil. Many were gathered around a black-haired woman; she was lean and long legged, clad in a longcoat and dark armor engraved with a kraken. Rhaenys watched from afar as she shouted orders in a bold voice; when one of the men called her ‘Greyjoy’, Rhaenys immediately knew who she was. She waited for the bannermen to disperse, before approaching the smirking woman.

“Asha Greyjoy, unless I am wrong,” Rhaenys spoke. 

Asha Greyjoy looked upon her, raising her brow. She appeared more bolder and wind-worn than her brother Theon; however, they shared the same dark grey eyes. “You won’t be wrong.” she replied. “Who would you be?”

“Elly Waters, my lady.”

“A crownlands bastard, eh?” She narrowed her dark eyes at Rhaenys. “You’re rather far from home aren’t you, Elly Waters?”

“I would be, if I had a home.” Rhaenys replied. “I hope to find one in the North.”

“The North?” Asha chuckled. “The damned lands had been overrun with warmongers, such as myself.” She grinned. “Not a pleasant place for pretty girls.”

“I seek work at Winterfell,” Rhaenys remarked.

“You find sympathy with the northernfolk then?” Asha queried. Laughter died from her face and she quickly turned suspicious.

“I find coin.” Rhaenys said carefully, her brown eyes unyielding as Asha glared at her. “Northern or ironborn, it doesn’t matter to me. So long as it keeps me out of the brothels.”

To her relief, the Greyjoy laughed again. “Elly Waters, _you_ would make far more gold in a whorehouse.”

“Perhaps– but my mother died in a whorehouse; I rather not share her fate.”

“I see, then. May I ask, why Winterfell?”

“I heard that… the Starks are gone,” Rhaenys replied, swallowing the ache in her throat. “That most of the servants there were either killed or sent to the Dreadfort. That Bolton’s bastard seeks to claim Winterfell…” 

“Oh. _Him_.” Asha spat, her tone brimming with contempt. “He’s Ramsey _Bolton_ now. I hear he’s found one of the Stark girls and plans to find claim with her hand and in her bed. I never loved the Starks, but I would not mind driving an ax blade in Ramsey’s neck.”

“I wouldn’t mind that either.” Rhaenys muttered, not bothering to mask her scorn. It was strange to think they both shared a loathing for the same man.

Asha took notice and furrowed her brow.“You know of his crimes then?”

“I’ve heard stories. How he raped and skinned girls while they were still alive. Then he would kill and feed them to his dogs…”

“Aye.” Asha grunted. “I sail back to Deepwood Motte this night, to bleed any Bolton man that thinks to be bold– for once.”

“Let me come with you,” Rhaenys said. She would have her fight with the Greyjoys someday; now, her only concern was rescuing Arya. Nothing else mattered.

“Are you mad?!” Asha bellowed. “My warship is not a ferry!” She shook her head and started to walk away.

“I have to go to Winterfell!” Rhaenys urged, matching the Greyjoy’s steps. “And I didn’t come all the way from King’s Landing to end my journey here!”

“Winterfell! Of all the bloody places! Ramsay just may try to feed you to his dogs!”

“I would like to see him try!” Rhaenys spat. She had already died at the hands of a Bolton. _Never again_.

Asha stopped and stared at Rhaenys. There was no belligerence in her eyes; only a slight of knowing. “You seek more in Winterfell beside coin,” she declared. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes before. I’ve seen it in my father’s eyes, in my brother’s eyes. In the reflection of the waters, i’ve seen it in my own eyes.”

Rhaenys suppressed the urge to flinch away; instead, she held the Greyjoy’s dark gaze. “There is a man in Winterfell,” she spoke, her voice like iron. “That has wronged me.”

Asha didn’t ask for a name or for what he had done. Instead, she only asked: “What do you intend to do?” 

“I intend to look him in his eyes and ask him why, before I cut his throat with his own dagger.”

Asha gave her a half-smile, heeding the iron tones of Rhaenys’ voice. “Elly Waters, for all my time at land and sea, i’ve never come across a woman like you.”

“Asha Greyjoy, there are no women like me.”

—

While on Asha’s ship, _The Black Wind_ , Rhaenys mostly stayed above deck with the crew, keeping to herself beneath an overhanging. Asha’s captive, Lady Sybelle Glover was aboard as well, retuning to her lord’s stronghold. Rhaenys had met Lady Glover once; Lord Stark had taken her, Sansa, Robb, and, Theon to Deepwood once. Many years had passed but Rhaenys still kept away from the Lady’s gaze–perhaps it was better to remain dead.

Lady Glover’s children were being held at the Ten Towers (albeit in a tower, rather than a dungeon). She remained below deck, often knelt in grief and prayer. She thought she'd recognized Ned Stark’s Targaryen ward, but the latter only bowed her head; _“You must be mistaken, my lady. That girl has been long dead.”_

—

Rhaenys sighed, watching the sea birds fly above the water, enjoying the wind beneath their wings. They had been at sea for many days– more than enough days to ponder upon their plans. Once she reached Deepwood Motte, Asha would give her a horse and that was it. Rhaenys would truly be on her own. 

At Winterfell, she would find Arya and take her away from there. Perhaps travel to White Harbor and sail to Gulltown– from there, she could take Arya to her aunt in The Eyrie. Or perhaps let Arya travel to Braavos with her and never part with her again…

_Take Arya away from her Winterfell. Her home. Their home._

The cruelty of it all, that a Stark had returned to Winterfell at last, only to be forced to marry the savage son of a traitor. Rhaenys angrily wiped the tears dripping down her face. The Stark were _all_ supposed to return to Winterfell– this was’t right. How many times did Robb wish he could have taken her back to Winterfell, to live out their days?

Suudenly, a longcoat was thrown at Rhaenys and Asha Greyjoy slumped beside her, a black bottle in her hand. “Cheer up, Elly Waters,” she sighed. “You’re at sea.”

“Are we really? I hadn’t noticed..” Rhaenys said drily. Asha laughed and took a swig from her bottle. Rhaenys examined the longcoat. “What’s this for?”

“The North…is cold,” Asha replied, offering her bottle. “Black tar rum. It’s about as digusting as it sounds.”

“Then why drink it?”

To remind yourself that you’re alive.”

Rhaenys snorted, but took the bottle anyway. The rum tasted disgusting but it certainly reminded her that she was alive. 

“Have you ever known your mother, Waters?” Asha asked, taking the bottle back.

“She died when I was young,” Rhaenys replied truthfully. “Raped and murdered…” No reason to make another lie; the truth was worse. 

Asha cursed. “No woman should die like that.”

“What of your mother?” 

“Touched by a madness that grew after my father died,” Asha replied bitterly. “I visited her at Harlaw, before we left. Was she my mother or a ghost? I can’t tell anymore.” She glanced over at Rhaenys. “I can slit a man’s throat easy but I can’t even bare steel to the darkness that torment my mother’s mind…”

“Nothing is ever quite enough, is it?” Rhaenys said. “No matter how whetted a sword or how bearing a love, it’s never enough…”

Asha sighed, taking another swig of the rum before handing the bottle back to Rhaenys. “You know, we’re not that different, you and I…”

—

 _The Black Wind_ had reached Deepwood Motte at last. The stronghold was built upon hills, old but not particularly strong-it was a wooden motte-and-bailey castle.

When the morrow came, Asha called for heavier furs and clothes for Rhaenys, as well as a horse. She watched as Rhaenys mounted the smoke-grey mare. In turn, Rhaenys looked down at the Greyjoy. It was a strange farewell. Asha had taken a northern castle, as part of the ironborn’s invasion of the North. Asha thought herself her father’s heir to his hollow crown. Her brother had murdered Bran and Rickon and betrayed Robb.

Rhaenys knew the Seastone chair would remain empty for as long as it stood. Perhaps she would meet with Asha again; not as a bastard, but as a queen.

“Farewell, Greyjoy,” she finally said, as the snow fell upon them and the lands.

“Take care, Elly Waters.”

—

Rhaenys remembered the trodden route well as she spurred her horse through the familiar wolfswood. One in a while, she would hear a wolf howl and her heart would ache as she thought of her own wolf. She spent nights in thickets, warmed by a fire, her furs, and her horse. The wolves’ howl song eased her and gave her courage.

While on her journey, Rhaenys came across a single weirwood. At the sight of the blood-red leaves, she dismounted and knelt before it, as she had done many times before. Carved into the bone-white wood was a worn and dismal face, its eyes running red with sap. 

Sad eyes met sad eyes, and Rhaenys started to weep. 

_Oh Robb, we should have never left Winterfell…_

—

After many days in the wolfswood, Winterfell loomed ahead. Rhaenys slowed her horse to a trot, staring up at the achingly familiar towers as snow began to fall again. 

_I’m home…_ Rhaenys thought dully. Winterfell had been her home longer than Sunspear was; yet, was it really home without the Starks?

She breathed in deeply, taking in the ice-cold air. Once within those walls, she would have to be the ghost everyone thought her to be. It was likely that Roose Bolton was already at Winterfell…

Rhaenys remembered the words Arya spoke: _fear cuts deeper than swords_. At once, she trotted the mare to the Hunter’s Gate, as fearlessness gripped her heavy heart. There were only two guards, both wearing cloaks of the Bolton’s colors. “Who are you?” One of the men demanded.

“You can’t expect to know _every_ serving girl in Winterfell,” Rhaenys sighed, her heart pounding. “Though, you probably wish.”

The other guard snorted with laugher and his companion glared at him before returning his gaze to Rhaenys, “Listen, girl, I don’t know who you are–”

“I’m Elly Waters. I made the journey from the Twins with Lady Walda. Lord Bolton sent me here to attend to the Stark girl _days ago_.” She looked down at the two men and raised an eyebrow. “But if you wish to pester Lord Bolton over the petty matter of your awful memories, then so be it. I’m sure the Warden of the North would appreciate it.”

The guards looked at each other with unease. “I won’t lose my skin over a bastard servant girl,” one of them muttered.

“Frey _did_ send some girls north with his daughter,” the others admitted.

Rhaenys allowed herself to close her eye in respite.

The man who first grunted. “Alright, girl–but don’t go wandering out again!”

—

Winterfell was just as Rhaenys remembered. Many of the towers and walls had been repaired, though the castle itself still bore scars from the ironborn’s torches. She dismounted and led the horse to the stables. No stableboys lingered about. Rhaenys wondered if Theon had Hodor killed as well–it seemed very likely.

Afterwards, she walked to the courtyard, remembering when she first rode into the South Gate with Lord Stark; the elder children had been waiting for them. Lady Stark had given birth to Bran days before and remained within the castle. But there they were, Theon, Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Robb; the auburn-haired and blue-eyed little boy had stared at her and she stared back…

Rhaenys blinked away tears and stared up at the Bolton banners that had been hung high on the walls. She would burn every one of them some day, along with every Bolton man…

Around her, men and women hurried about, no one taking notice of the black-cloaked girl and all muttering about the wedding– Ramsay and Arya hadn’t been wed yet. Rhaenys sighed with relief, hoping that Arya hadn’t seen and felt the Bolton’s cruelty. She strode across the courtyard and into the Great Keep, ignoring the familiar walls and halls and the joyous memories they held. Rhaenys thought to check Arya’s old bedchambers first and she hurried through the corridors and up the stairwell. She grew paranoid, looking over her shoulder ever so often to make sure Roose Bolton wasn’t lurking–she wasn’t even sure if he was even in the castle…

At last, she was in front of Arya’s door. With her heart fluttering like a trapped bird, Rhaenys tapped on the wood softly.

“Yes?” A familiar and frightened voice.

Rhaenys couldn’t help but smile in relief; the first smile to cross her face in such a long time. She opened the door, expecting to see her long-faced and grey-eyed good-sister.

Instead, Rhaenys found herself looking into vivid blue eyes.

“Sansa!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The night is dark and full of plot twists.
> 
> I just want to say that Jeyne Poole is alright and well. I stole the t.v show's plot device because i thought it was have been interesting to have Rhaenys and Sansa finally reunite. And also, to deal with the initial mess of a plot device. 
> 
> If the timeline seems off, deal with it. IDK anymore.


	39. the sorrows of winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys returned to Winterfell at last, finding more than just her good-sister.

Sansa! Sweet Sansa! Rhaenys could have only looked upon her face in bewilderment. She had grown, taller and more beautiful. Her auburn hair had been dyed black, though her copper tones shown dark brown in the candlelight. Sansa had been standing by the window, mournfully gazing at the snowfall; now she stared at Rhaenys, her face pale and eyes wide in her own disbelief.

“Rhaenys?! Is it really you?!” She breathed. “They told me you were dead!”

“They could only wish,” Rhaenys murmured, shutting the door behind her. At once, her good-sister threw herself at her, wrapping her slender arms around her neck. Rhaenys gripped Sansa, shutting her eyes in respite. 

“Oh, you’re alive!” Sansa whispered. “You’re alive…” She pulled away from Rhaenys to look at her properly. There was a hardened look about Sansa; the starry-eyed maid that Rhaenys had known was gone, crushed by the world.

“Robb and Mother? Are they…”

“No,” Rhaenys replied at once, refusing to allow that hollow flicker of hope to live longer than it should have; it was the cruelest of hopes and one Rhaenys did not want to know again. “No…i’m sorry Sansa.” 

Sansa bowed her head, as if in understanding. It would seem that she was also no stranger to cruel hopes. “Why are you here?” She asked. “Lord Bolton, he’s to arrive before evenfall…if he sees you–”

“I’m here for you,” Rhaenys replied. “I returned North, when I heard that Ramsay was to marry Arya…”

“So he thinks,” Sansa replied darkly. The two sat on the bed as Sansa spoke of all that had happened following the red wedding at the Twins: Joffery had been poisoned, the blame placed on Sansa and her Lannister husband. Tyrion had since been imprisioned by Cersei while Sansa was whisked away from King’s Landing by a man, Lord Baelish. They fled to her aunt in the Vale, whom Lord Baelish had married at once. 

A fortnight later, Lysa died (though Sansa would not say how). Baelish was now Lord of the Vale. Sansa had continued to live peacefully there, with darkened hair and a bastard name-- until Baelish sent her north with a new, yet not so new, name; Arya Stark. Posing as her sister, Sansa would have wed Ramsay Bolton; she was promised that the North would be reclaimed in her name.

Rhaenys immediately held no trust for Lord Baelish.

“Does he not know that Ramsay is a monster?” Rhaenys said in dismay. “Or what Roose Bolton has done?!” 

“He knows, Rhae.” Sansa said bitterly. “But that’s only a bruise on the skin of his ambitions. So long as he gets what he desires, he doesn’t care if Ramsay rapes me bloody or if his dogs chase me through the wolfswood.”

“Well, you’re not marrying any Bolton,” Rhaenys uttered. “We’re leaving.”

But Sansa looked uncertain. “Once i’m missing, Ramsay will send men and dogs after us. Where would we go?”

“Braavos,” Rhaenys decided, seeing how The Vale was not a possibility anymore. “Braavos, far away from here. My uncle Oberyn had gone there to recruit sellswords moons ago.”

Sansa sighed heavily, her soft gaze wandering back to the window. “All I wanted was to come home, to Winterfell. With you and Robb, Mother and Father and Arya. Now i’m here and the Boltons have turned it into nightmare.”

Rhaenys placed her hand over Sansa’s. “Your home will be yours again. The North will bare your name again. I swear that, on the old god and the new.” Sansa looked upon her sadly.

“You were Robb’s wife. The Queen in the North. Winterfell is yours.”

“Now i’m his childless widow,” Rhaenys murmured. “Robb twice made a queen of me. He had forsaken his own crown and named me Queen of Westeros in Riverrun.” Robb had told her that such was her beginning. Then she had died– now she would begin again. 

Sansa looked at her intently, a slight of long-lost joy in her eyes. “Queen of Westeros?” She asked, her voice hushed.

“The Boltons and Frey thought to have me killed for it.”

“They failed.”

“Aye, that they did.” The truth of her death and return was a strange one. Rhaenys would speak of it someday. But Sansa did not ask about death; instead, she spoke of Rhaenys’ reign as though it was a dream come to life.

“I want Cersei, her children, and every Lannister torn away from the Iron Throne; thrown away with the Boltons and the Freys.” Sansa said, her eyes burning. “I want you on that throne, Rhaenys. I've known you my entire life and I _know_ you will be the best queen of them all. Promise me that."

“I promise.”

“On your honor as a Targaryen?” She gaze at her with painfully familiar azure eyes. “On your honor as a Stark?”

Rhaenys gave her a sad and determined smile. “I promise you, Sansa.”

Sansa smiled, for the first time in such a while; truly and without sorrow.

The smile died when someone knocked at the door, their raps heavy and uneven. Rhaenys stood up at once, her heart beating wildly. 

Sansa rose as well. “Yes?”

There was a man’s voice, one Rhaenys could not recognize; but Sansa did. She glanced at Rhaenys with unease, before opening the door and letting the man in. He was gaunt and slightly haunched over, his dark hair long and matted; his hollow dark eyes focused on nothing. Rhaenys thought he must have come from the Dreadfort, as she had never known such a wraith at Winterfell. But at the sight of her, the man’s already pallid skin whitened, his eyes wide and dazed. 

Rhaenys drew a sharp breath–she did know this man. 

“Sansa, close the door,” she said, her voice low and her ire growing. Such a black rage overcame her, consuming her broken heart and boiling her dragonblood. As soon as the door was shut softly, Rhaenys hurled herself at Theon Greyjoy, knocking him to the floor. She wanted to wrap her hands around his neck and strangle the life from him. He didn’t even try to wrench away, and her nails found his face; she scored scratches along his harrowed cheek.

“HE TRUSTED YOU!” She spat, digging her fingers into his taut skin. “HE CALLED YOU HIS BROTHER! HE TRUSTED YOU AND NOW HE’S DEAD!” 

“Rhaenys!” Sansa pleaded, trying to grab hold of her. “Rhaenys, please..” 

The rage seemed to have passed as quickly as it came. Sansa caught Rhaenys as the latter collapsed to the floor. Theon cowered against the door, his scratches bleeding and his eyes red with tears. Rhaenys was sobbing as Sansa held her.

“I k-know,” Theon Greyjoy trembled, tears dripping down his face. “I know. I know. I know…”

“No, you don’t!” Rhaenys wept. “You betrayed him and murdered his brothers! Now Robb is dead and you’re still here!” 

“I d-didn’t kill them,” he rasped, his eyes not leaving the floor.

“What?” 

“I killed two b-boys,” Theon admitted, glancing at her. “I killed two boys, but n-not the Stark boys.”

“Theon killed the miller’s boys,” Sansa explained softly. “After Bran and Rickon escaped from Winterfell, with Hodor and a serving girl…”

Rhaenys stared at Theon. Bran and Rickon were still alive? 

“You betrayed Robb! He nearly lost trust in his own men! In his own mother! In himself!” She glared at him. “ _You_ should have died instead of him!”

“I know, I know..”

“I had to watch Robb die!” Rhaenys spat, digging her nails into her palms until the flesh was pink. For the rest of her days, she would watch Robb die again and again behind closed eyelids. How the light of his eyes went cold, and the blood trickle from the wound in his heart. “Do you know what that felt like!?”

“…I don’t.. I won’t ever…”

She looked at him, her voice nearly a whisper. “It felt like death, Theon…”

Theon’s eyes avoided her and Sansa as he rose. “Lady Sansa, Lord Ramsay wishes for you to take your supper with him and his lord-father.”

Rhaenys felt her stiffen. “Tell him i’ll be with him shortly.” Sansa said curtly.

Before he left, Theon dared to look at Rhaenys one last time. When their eyes met, she saw a flicker of joy in his. “Rhaenys…i’m glad you’re alive..”

Even after Theon quit the chambers, Rhaenys found herself still staring at the door. “Sansa, what happened to him?” She whispered. “I thought he was being held at the Dreadfort.” 

“Ramsay brought him here, as his servant.” Sansa replied, helping Rhaenys stand. “He tortured him, broken him, gave him a new name. Reek…”

"Do you believe him? About Bran and Rickon?"

Sansa looked at her. "He's lost everything, Rhae. He wouldn't have anything left to gain if he were lying."

Rhaenys sat on the bed as Sansa searched the truck for a dress. The Theon Greyjoy Rhaenys had known and expected was vain and arrogant, always smiling and jesting. The Theon Greyjoy Rhaenys had lashed out at was less than even a shell. She clenched her trembling hands, and walked over to the window. The snowfall had grown heavier, the world outside one of white and grey. Rhaenys heard the men and the horses, watching as a guardsman led a stallion as black as sin away. Watching the guard take his horse was a horribly familiar man. Rhaenys breath stuck in her throat. Sansa joined her by the window and they both stared below at Roose Bolton.

Rhaenys had begged and pleaded to that man for Robb’s life, only to watch a dagger be driven through her husband’s heart. She could still remember the red and cold bite of his steel through her own heart, but that paled to the anguish she felt when Robb fell dead before her. Lord Bolton had turned her world into a nightmare; she would soon become his.

“When does Ramsay plan to wed you?” Rhaenys asked, watching Lord Bolton with malice.

“Two days time.”

“We leave on the morrow.”

—

After Sansa left her to join the Boltons in the Great Hall, Rhaenys went down to the kitchens to fulfill her feigned duty as a bastard serving girl. She also had to remain as far as she could from Roose Bolton; he must think that she was still dead. 

Most of the servants at Winterfell had been killed, it seemed; perhaps they were too loyal to the Starks for the Greyjoys’, then the Boltons’ liking. Rhaenys was certain she would never find another familiar face at Winterfell; then, in the kitchens, she came face to face with the cook, Gage.

“Lady Rhaenys!?” The cook nearly screeched, as Rhaenys’ eye widened.

“Not here!” She hissed, taking his arm and pulling him to an alcove. Gage was so overcome with happiness that he started to weep. “Oh, my dear lady! I thought the Bolton slew you along with your lord!”

“Gage!” Rhaenys pleaded, her voice low. “Lord Bolton thinks me dead and so should you! I’m a bastard girl called Elly, do you understand?!”

“Why have you come back?” Gage asked, his eyes red and misty. “If Lord Bolton sees you, then he will kill you for certain.” Suddenly, realization came to him and he answered his own question. “You’ve come for Sansa.”

“Aye.”

“You brave and willful girl,” he sighed in relief. “Take her far away from Ramsay, m'lady–”

“Elly,” she reminded him. “I’m Elly Waters and no one else.”

“Of course,” Gage said hastily, as they walked back into the open. No one had taken notice. “You can stay here. Lord Bolton wouldn't spare this place a glance.”

“Thank you Gage.” Rhaenys looked around the kitchen, searching for his small daughter. ”Where’s Turnip?”

“Gone,” the cook replied sadly. “All of the children were taken to the Dreadfort. Septa Darsha had gone with them.”

Rhaenys sighed in relief; her dear septa was still alive.

Just then, a pretty brown-haired girl bounded into the kitchen, a bow hung over her shoulder and a couple of dead rabbits in her grasp. “Hello Gage,” she said, throwing the rabbits onto a table.

“Myranda,” Gage greeted politely, though it was strained.

The girl took no notice, plucking an apple from a bowl with tapered fingers. She looked at Rhaenys with interest. “Who’s this?” She asked before biting into the apple.

“Elly,” Rhaenys replied.

“You from Dorne?” Myranda asked. Despite her beauty, there was a callous mien about her.

“The crownlands.” 

“You’ve come a long way for work,” she chuckled. “Probably for the best; most of the wenches here were killed.” She glanced at the rabbits. “Found those two near the wolfswood. I must admit, it’s more than what I would have found back at the Dreadfort in this snowfall.”

“You’re from the Dreadfort?” Rhaenys asked.

“Aye, came with Lord Ramsay.” She smiled as she spoke his name. Her hazel eyes stared intently into Rhaenys, as though she was trying to pry into her secrets.

“Do you hunt, Elly?”

“Sometimes.”

“Perhaps you can join me one day,” she mused, leaving the kitchen. As soon as she left, Gage cursed. 

“Ramsay’s whore,” he told Rhaenys. “Watch out for that one. The two are more alike than anyone would think.”

Rhaenys did not leave the kitchens for the night, for fear of being discovered by Roose Bolton. She slept in the cooks’ quarters, though sleep was elusive and her mind ran wild with thoughts; on the morrow’s night, she would get Sansa and they were flee. Would they run away on foot or would they dare to risk stealing horses? Should they journey to Ramsgate or Widow’s Watch, rather than White Harbor? Could they even _survive_ such a trek through the snows?

When sleep finally found Rhaenys, so did Rhaegar.

—

_Rhaenys was standing outside the entrance to the crypts, amid a winter storm. She shivered, though not from the cold. Standing next to her was Rhaegar, his hands blue from ice, his nails darker than stone._

_“This is not my place,” he murmured, gesturing towards the crypts with a ruined hand. Before Rhaenys could question him, Rhaegar walked away._

_As soon as Rhaenys entered the crypts of Winterfell, she was overcome by the scent of winter roses. Her heart lifted at the familiar fragrance. She continued into the tunnel, along the line of tombs; Rhaenys stopped at the statue that was carved into Lord Stark’s likeness. Beside him was an empty tomb, the one that was meant for Robb. On his other side was Lyanna’s, her beautiful and worn stone face gazing at her. Rhaenys continued down the line of tombs, uncertain of why she was there._

_Suddenly, a little boy ran out from the shadows; his eyes were bright blue and his hair auburn. He held a candlestick in his hand and looked kindly up at Rhaenys, who had clasped her hand over her mouth in astonishment._

_“Rhae, this way!” He exclaimed, running deeper into the crypts. Rhaenys ran after him, his little firelight illumining their way. They ran pass the tombs of lords and kings, with their longswords and direwolves. Soon, the tunnels grew strangely warm. Rhaenys frantically searched for Robb, but he was gone._

_He had left his candle for her, next to the warm stone walls. When Rhaenys knelt next to the light, she saw it; a massive egg._

_Her breath stuck in her throat, as she held the candle next to the egg to spill light upon it. It was resting upon a pile of what looked like black and broken egg shells. The intact egg had been turned to stone by time, though its dull silver shell still held a brilliance that Rhaenys had ever seen before…_

When she awoke, it was still dark outside and had stared to snow again. Her heart was hammering in her chest, a sheen of sweat upon her brow as though she was still next to the warm wall. A moment of madness took her and Rhaenys quietly left her bed. She found her cloak and a lantern in the kitchen. _Seven hells, I must be mad_ Rhaenys thought, as she stepped outside and started for the crypts.

—

The snowfall had grown heavy as Rhaenys walked to Winterfell’s crypts, and she was glad for this; it would’ve made it difficult for any guard to spot her, even with a lantern. When she reached the entrance of the Starks’ resting place, Rhaenys glanced around before entering; she half-expected Rhaegar to be lurking in the the dark. _I must be a fool_ She thought, slowing opening the heavy wooden door. _It was only a dream!_ Then came Robb’s voice, playful and quiet in her ear: _“you are not a fool–you are my daring wife.”_

She had been in the crypts when she was a child, under Robb’s pretense that she would’ve been a Stark once day. With the Stark children and Jon, they played games within the tunnels; monsters-and-maidens, come-into-my-castle…once Jon had covered himself with flour and tried to scare them as a ghost, only to be punched in the nose by Arya. The happy memory encouraged her and Rhaenys ran pass Lord Stark’s tomb, then Lyanna’s, Brandon’s, Rickard’s…

She traced the long and winding path that Robb had shown her, holding no concerns of being lost within the vastness of the crypts. The longer she ran, the more cold and musty the tunnels became. She ran and ran, following a ghost…

When the walls grew warm, Rhaenys finally halted. She held up the lantern, lighting her way and placing her trembling hand upon the warm stone; these walls must have been close to the hot springs. Her breathing still heavy, she glanced upon the grounds and gasped.

 _There it was._ Covered in years of grime and cobweb, but there it was.

Rhaenys knelt down, setting her lantern upon the floor and hardly believing what she was staring at. Her dream was true! The rumor was true! Old Nan’s story was true! The lackwit was true! _Robb, every word had been true!_

She was almost afraid to touch it, fearful that it would crumble to dust in her hands. Rhaenys carefully lifted it with both of her hands, surprised at how heavy it was. She carefully rubbed the grime away with her fingers. The hues in her dream paled in comparison to the actual color; a deep silver with flecks of frost blue that flickered like stars in the lantern’s light. She turned it over in her hands, her dirty fingertips skimming the tiny scales upon the stone surface.

Rhaenys held a dragon egg in her hands.

She sighed, clutching the warm egg with one hand as she retrieved her lantern with the other. The petrified egg was a thing of beauty; perhaps a merchant in Braavos would think so as well. She could buy a warfleet with that gold, along hundreds of sellswords for her armies.

Yet, Rhaenys couldn’t help but wonder…

The dragon egg had been resting in deep within Winterfell crypt’s for nearly two hundred years…did she dare dream of a tiny dragon that could have been sleeping within its shell? 

_You’ve enough dreams for the night– take peace in this one._ Rhaenys thought to herself, tenderly holding the dragon egg close to her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHERE ARE MY DRAGONS.
> 
> Like, if you want fight me over the specifics of the theory of Vermax's eggs beneath Winterfell, pls don't. Let my bby Rhaenys be happy.


	40. the wards of winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joffery, then Ramsay-- was this always meant to be a monster's game?

Rhaenys emerged from the crypts just before the dawn broke. She hurried back into the cooks’ quarters, clutching the dragon egg beneath her cloak. When she returned to her mattress, she carefully swaddled the egg with a shawl before placing it in her satchel.

She had barely slept that night-- yet she was hardly weary. Exhilaration filled her veins, rather than blood. The mere sight of the dragon egg had shown her a tiny ember of hope; the most she had felt in a long time. It wasn’t meant to exist, yet there it was.

As Rhaenys laid down on the mattress, someone tapped at the wooden door. She rose once more, peeking out the tiny window; it was Myranda. “Dawn’s hunt,” she whispered, as Rhaenys opened the door. “Care to join me?”

She did, very curious about Ramsay’s bedwarmer; Gage had told her the two were very much like. That couldn’t have meant very well. The two quietly left the kitchens for Winterfell’s armory. “One of the guardmens said you came from the Twins, with Fat Walda,” Myranda said, her tone nonchalant. “And that Lord Bolton sent you here to attend the Stark girl.”

“That’s right,” Rhaenys said, her newly cherished hope drowning in dread. It wasn’t a hunt Myranda sought; at least, not one for animal meat.

“Strange, i’ve never seen you at the Dreadfort,” Myranda mused as they entered the armory. “My father is the kennel master and we’ve seen plenty of people come and go. A Dornish girl would be hard to miss.”

She was suspicious of her. Rhaenys stared at Myranda, brown eyes meeting hazel, as she carefully placed her lies. "I’ve attended to Lady Bolton mostly, but she had me watch the children from Winterfell often enough.”

“That would explain it! I never liked children,” Myranda replied, though she still seemed doubtful. She turned away from Rhaenys, setting arrows in their quivers. “Do you by any chance know the words of House Bolton?”

“Our Blades Are Sharp,” Rhaenys replied calmly, taking a hunting bow from the wall. Anyone in the Bolton’s service would know... as well as a ward from Winterfell. “I also know that the Dreadfort lays on the shores of Weeping Water and that the Boltons of old once ruled as the Red Kings.” 

Myranda laughed and it seemed genuine. “Sorry about that Elly!” Ramsay will be the lord of the Dreadfort and Winterfell some day. I’d hate for him to be in the company of... false people.”

“I understand,” Rhaenys said, forcing a smile. “Lord Ramsay is fortunate to have you here.”

Myranda smiled, handing her a leather cuirass and hunting gloves. “Who taught you to hunt?”

“My brother. He was afraid that he wouldn’t always be around to feed us.”

It was Lord Stark who had taken her on her first hunt, along with Theon, Jon, and Robb. Rhaenys had pestered Jory about learning to shoot and she took well to it. He later ascribed Lord Stark’s easy agreement of letting her hunt to his sister Lyanna, a fine hunter herself.

“Then what happened?” Myranda asked, helping Rhaenys to secure the cuirass over her dress.

“That day came.”

“Aye. Such days always do.”

\---

The two women took their horses and rode to the wolfswood. The sun had only started to rise, bathing the snow-covered grounds with red shafts. The snowfall had stopped and the morning was still, with some small creatures venturing out to find food. 

Rhaenys spotted a feeding pheasant, its dark feathers practically a target against the white, and nocked an arrow. She hadn’t hunted in such a long time. Aware of Myranda watching her, Rhaenys exhaled a cloud of cold air and released the bowstring.

“Good shot!” Myranda called out, as Rhaenys went to retrieve the dead bird. “Southron girls are usually lousy.”

“Gage would be glad for pheasants, for the wedding feast,” Rhaenys said, watching for Myranda’s reaction. If the girl from the Dreadfort was suspicious of her, then Rhaenys was twice as weary of her. 

“Won’t be much of a feast, seeing how many of the northern lords have been killed or scattered.”

“Lord Bolton betrayed the Starks, did he not?” Rhaenys said, almost carelessly. “That doesn’t tend to win friends or favors.” 

Myranda laughed. “You’re a bold one! Lord Bolton would skin you where you stood if he heard such a thing!”

“Then it’s a good thing he’s not here.” Rhaenys replied, turning from her and continuing their trot into the woods. She heard Myranda chortle again. “Aye, he betrayed the Starks, murdered two of them himself…though I wouldn’t count Robb Stark’s wife.”

She caught up with Rhaenys, matching her pace. “Roose Bolton would have never dared to marry his northern-born son to dragonspawn,” Myranda said, almost proudly. She was disgustingly loyal to that house; or perhaps she was only loyal to one.

“The wolf will have to do, then.” Rhaenys said, glancing at Myranda; at once, she saw it; the glint of jealousy in her hazel eyes. She was in love with Ramsay.

“Aye, she would.” Myranda shrugged. “Though, Ramsay bears no love for that Stark bitch.”

“How would you know?” Rhaenys asked, almost jeered. She could have struck Myranda for speaking of Sansa like that. “She’ll give him Winterfell. What would you offer him? A bastard like myself?”

Myranda glared at her and Rhaenys realized what Gage meant; heartless and wild and quick to see red. “A place between my legs, willingly. Not like the Stark. She’ll be crying and begging for death once he’s in her bed. And gods show her mercy when she bores him!”

\---

When the two returned to the kitchens, a plain man with dark hair and ice-grey eyes had been waiting. Theon was with him and staring at the floor; his face still bore the scratches that Rhaenys had made.

“Myranda! You’ve been on a hunt without me?” the man asked, his thin lips curved into a smile.

“There will be more hunts, my lord,” she replied coyly. “And my new friend Elly made up for your absence.”

This had to be Ramsay Bolton. He shared his father’s dark hair and moon-white eyes, which held a feral look. Unlike his father, Ramsay’s skin was blotchy and tinged with pink. Rhaenys curtsied while clenching her jaw.

“She knows her manners,” Ramsay said. “Unlike some women…” He looked at her with great interest. “Well, you’re pretty.” He looked to Theon. “Isn’t she pretty, Reek?”

Theon had still been staring at the ground. He nodded, avoiding Rhaenys’ gaze.

“You miss pretty girls, don’t you Reek?” Ramsay chuckled. Theon didn’t say anything, only staring and staring at nothing. _Gods, what did Ramsay do to him?_ Rhaenys thought. _This isn’t Theon Greyjoy, this is…Ramsay’s Reek._

“May we meet again, Elly,” Ramsay grinned, before leaving the kitchens. “Come along, Reek.” Theon glanced at Rhaenys before padding after Ramsay. Myranda followed them out as well, but not before giving Rhaenys a malicious look. 

_So much for being friends._

\---

At midday, Lord Bolton and Ramsay went out to the wolfswood to hunt, allowing Rhaenys to roam about Winterfell. She went to the Great Keep to search for Sansa and let her know of their plans for the night. 

When a serving girl told her that ‘Lady Arya’ had gone to the godswood, Rhaenys’ heavy heart sank even further. Truthfully, she had hoped to avoid the godswood; happiness once dwelled there, especially her own. Rhaenys was certain she would never know such joy again.

Sansa was knelt before the heart tree in prayer, her head bowed before the melancholy face. Rhaenys did not disturb her and sat upon a nearby rock. She stared at the clear pool, now frozen over. The blood-red leaves that usually fell upon the waters had been iced over as well.

Robb had kissed her for the first time in the sight of the old gods. She sought blessings and good will before them, along with solace. The old gods were never her own, yet Rhaenys always knelt to them, for her northern family, for Robb.

Nothing was ever enough.

She breathed deeply, warding off more tears. Thankfully, Sansa rose from her prayers, still stood before the heart tree. “I’m supposed to wed Ramsay here,” she said bitterly. “Hasn’t he ruined my home enough?” Sansa looked over to Rhaenys, her eyes red. “He called Robb a coward, for taking wedding vows in the sept. He called his wolfblood ‘muttsblood’.” 

Rhaenys bowed her head. She wanted nothing more than to slip into Ramsay’s bed and carve an echo of his wicked smile into his throat. Perhaps after the son, she’d search for the father; though rather than cutting his neck, Rhaenys would drive the knife through his heart twice-- once for her and once for Robb…

But Rhaenys could not act on her vengeance. Not yet. She had to think about Sansa; she had to keep her safe. “Midnight,” she said quietly. 

Sansa walked over to her, tears frozen on her face. “Midnight,” she repeated.

Rhaenys glanced around, paranoid that someone could be watching and listening. “I’m surprised Ramsay hasn’t set you with a guard.”

“He says i’ve been a good girl,” Sansa explained bitterly. “That i’m clever enough to know what would happen if I try to run.”

Rhaenys took her sister’s hand. “Then we will have to run faster.”

\---

When Rhaenys returned to the kitchens, she found Theon waiting for her. He looked paler than when she last saw him that morning; he could have easily passed for a corpse. “Lord Ramsay had told me to bring you to the k-kennels,” he stammered.

 _The kennels?_ “What for?” Rhaenys asked, her blood icing in her veins.

“I don’t k-know,” Theon replied. “He didn’t t-tell me…” 

He was frightened for her. Rhaenys took a deep breath. If she didn’t go with Theon, then Ramsay would punish him before seeking her out personally. Before, she wouldn’t have cared whether or not Theon suffered at the Bolton’s hands; yet, she nodded. “Alright, then.”

It was a silent and apprehensive walk to the kennels. When they arrived to the there, Ramsay was crouched in front of one of the cages, speaking softly to his hound.

“Lord Ramsay,” Rhaenys said.

The Bolton looked up, smiling at the sight of them. “Elly Waters,” he said as he rose. The hound started to snarl and Ramsay laughed. “That’s Kyra. She’s still young.”

Kyra? Rhaenys remembered a tavern wench called Kyra, who worked at an inn in the winter town; Theon was rather fond of her. Rhaenys hoped that the shared name was only a coincidence.

“My girls,” Ramsay announced, sweeping his outstretched arms towards most of the cages. “They love a good sport, almost as much as I; boar, elk, wolves...”

A bitter taste edged on Rhaenys’ tongue, as she fought to stay indifferent. “You’ve raised them well, my lord,” she said.

“Kind of you to say,” he replied, walking closer to her. Ramsay truly had his father’s eyes, paler and colder than the moon and hardly blinking; the last eyes Robb saw before he was killed. “Myranda said you’ve come from the crownlands.”

“King’s Landing,” Rhaenys replied. Myranda must have reverted to her suspicions out of spite, eagerly relaying them to the man she loved. 

“You’ve come a long way! And all on your own?”

“Yes, my lord,” Rhaenys said, her eyes never shifting from his.

“You’re a bold thing,” Ramsay grinned. “To what house do you owe your bastard name to?”

“Rosby.”

“Your name, but certainly not your blood! The Rosbys were never known for their vigor. Perhaps your Dornish blood made up for that.” He looked at her, a slight of callousness in his smirk. “Not many Dornish girls make it this far north.”

His eyes were so terrible. “Is that so?”

“Very much so.” He looked over to Theon. “Reek, Robb Stark took a Dornish girl for his wife, did he not?”

Ramsay knew perfectly well who Robb took for his wife. Everyone in the damned realm knew; a Stark married to the last Targaryen. Lyanna’s nephew to Rhaegar’s daughter. But this was _his_ game now, as it was once Joffery’s. Was this always meant to be a monster’s game?

“Yes, my lord,” Theon replied, meeting Ramsay’s gaze carefully. 

“You called her sister once?” A smile played on Ramsay’s lips. He was enjoying this game; one that Rhaenys was brought here to bear witness to.

“Once, my lord.”

“What was her name again, Reek?”

“R-Rhaenys.”

“As yes, Rhaenys Targaryen.” Ramsay said scornfully.“The Dornish she-wolf!” He laughed, as though at a jest. “The Starks were fools, madder than the dragonspawn Stark married.”

 _Why am I here?_ Rhaenys thought. _To watch him torment Theon about…me?_ Ramsay was no longer paying her heed. “Reek, did you hear what became of the King In the North, after my father killed him?”

“N-No, my lord.”

“Neither have I, but rumors fly from the riverlands like smoke in the wind. _My_ favorite is the tale of the direwolf’s head being chopped off and sewn onto Robb Stark's headless corpse.”

Rhaenys felt like she was being gutted. _No tears,_ she prayed to whoever would listen. She could not cry for her wolf now. Robb Stark was nothing to Elly Waters, and that was what Rhaneys hated the most about her shroud. Theon’s skin seemed to had turned grey, as Ramsay taunted him with what was the worst of the many fates Robb could have met. 

“I haven't heard a word about his whore. Pity Father didn't let me decide her fate.” Ramsay glanced over to Kyra’s kennel. “Kyra has yet to taste a woman’s blood.”

“Lord Ramsay, why am I here?” Rhaenys asked, fighting to stay impassive, fighting her own grief, fighting back widow’s tears, and fighting the urge to choke the wicked grin from his face.

Ramsay glanced at Theon with a cruel smile “Because _you_ remind Reek of that Targaryen. I can see it in his pathetic eyes. He still has his lessons to learn. Perhaps you can assist me one day, Elly.”

 _Perhaps one day, you’ll learn what happens after you wake a dragon,_ Rhaenys thought. “Perhaps, my lord.”

Ramsay looked satisfied. “Reek! Escort her back to the kitchens.”

\---

As soon as they were outside the kitchen, Rhaenys crumbled in the shadows of the wall, knelt in the snow as anguish overwhelmed her. _Is that what happened to Robb?! His and Grey Wind’s corpses mutilated and humiliated?_ She clamped her hand over her mouth. She felt sick. 

Theon crouched down next to her and grabbed her arm. “Rhaenys, why are you here?” He croaked, his grey eyes red. “Why are you here?!”

Rhaenys didn’t flinch nor pull her arm away from him. “I’m here for Sansa,” she said, tears freezing upon her cheeks. “I’m taking her away from that, that _thing!”_

“You can’t” He cried. “Ramsay will find you! He’ll send his dogs and--” 

“Ramsay will kill us both either way!” She stared at him. “He needs Sansa alive for now but he’ll make her life worse than any hell! He’ll have me killed while you watch, just because he thinks i’m a girl who looks like someone you knew!” 

They sat in the shadows in silence. Rhaenys crossed her arms while staring up at the white and grey skies. “He killed Kyra didn’t he? He made you watch." 

Theon nodded. “He enjoyed the hunt. That’s why he named his pup K-Kyra. He’ll n-name a one for you, if he has his fun. 

“Not exactly. Not my name,” she replied. “Our names aren’t Arya, Reek, and Elly.” 

“I’m Reek.” 

“No you’re Theon Greyjoy and you’re leaving with us.” 

Theon looked surprised. “I can’t. He’ll find me." 

“No, he won’t,” Rhaenys promised. “The next time any Bolton finds us, i’ll have armies breathing down his neck.” 

But Theon shook his head. “I can’t, Rhaenys. I can’t. I betrayed Robb.” 

He clawed at the snow with his fingers, as fresh tears ran down his face. “I should have never left him,” he murmured. “I should have died for him, or died with him. He was my brother...” 

Rhaenys wanted to be angry with him, but she couldn’t. Not anymore. Theon was one of the few people she had left. They were Ned Stark’s wards-- raised with wolves. 

“He made you queen,” he uttered. “Of Westeros.” 

“Yes, he did…” 

“Of course he did. He loved you.” 

“Theon..” Rhaenys said, blinking away more tears. 

“I’ll go with you,” he said quietly. “You’re alive, Robb would be happy. I’ll go with you..” 

Once Theon had gone and Rhaenys was back in the cooks’ quarters, she found her dragon egg and held it close to her. It still felt warm. 

\--- 

It was almost midnight, when Rhaenys crept away from the kitchens for the final time. Gage had given her food and water, and wished her all the gods’ blessings. Rhaenys hastily made her way to a rampart near the armory. The snows had begun again, coupled with a steely wind-- a white veil that was greatly appreciated. Sansa was already there, waiting for her. A dim lantern was set on floor. 

“Rhaenys,” she whispered, her breath a fog. 

“Where’s Theon?” Rhaenys asked, looking around frantically. He should have been here before her. 

“I don’t know,” Sansa said, growing fearful. Rhaenys breathed deeply; they did not have the luxury of waiting for him. Suddenly, Sansa grabbed her hand, as Myranda stepped out of the shadow of a tower, bow in hand and an arrow nooked and trained at them. Beside her was Theon. 

“I spotted this one sneaking out,” she said, smiling. “I’ve always loved a good hunt.” Myranda aimed the arrow at Sansa. “Lady Stark, you are to be wed on the morrow. You should be resting.” 

“Go with her,” Theon said, staring at the ground below. 

“I know what Ramsay is,” Sansa said, her voice heavy. “I know what he’ll do to me.” She stared at Myranda, with all the intensity of a wolf. “If i'm going to die, let it happen while there's still some of me left." 

Myranda chuckled. “You’re not going to die, my lady. You’re a Stark a Winterfell, is that not what you've told me? Ramsay _needs_ you. He needs your sons. Once he’s done with you…” She tautened the bowstring. “Would you like me to show you?” 

“If you maim her, Ramsay will be furious,” Rhaenys said, pulling Sansa behind her. 

“He only needs certain parts,” Myranda uttered. “When he’s done using them, he’ll find other uses…” She smiled sweetly. “How about this, Lady Stark. I’ll demonstrate Ramsay’s plans for you on the bastard. It’s not like she needs her parts.” 

Theon’s hollow gaze shifted slightly, from the grounds below the rampart to Myranda, who glared at Rhaenys mockingly. “She’s just a bastard, aren’t you Elly?” 

“No...” Rhaenys replied, Sansa’s word echoing: _if i'm going to die, let it happen while there's still some of me left…_

Rhaenys was the rightful Queen of Westeros and she would rather die a queen once more. The Boltons couldn’t take everything away from her. “No, i’m not.” 

Myranda snorted. “What are you on about?!” 

“My name is Rhaenys,” she said, an ember burning in her broken heart. “Of the House Targaryen. I am the blood of the dragon and the wife of a wolf, and you do not scare me.” 

Myranda lowered her bow ever so slightly, bewilderment overshadowing her wicked expression. Then, Theon grabbed her. 

“Reek what are you doing?!” she spat, as her arrow flew pass Sansa’s head. They grappled for a fleeting moment, before Theon threw Myranda over the edge of the rampart. Her screams were lost in the wind, along with the sickening sound of her neck breaking on the stone ground below. Theon gripped the wooden railing, as Rhaenys and Sansa looked down at Myranda’s body, the white snow turning red with her blood. 

“We need to go,” Theon urged as he turned to look at them. “We need to go!” He grabbed their hands and they ran up the stairs to the parapet. The winds grew wilder, the horizon of the North overtaken by white. In the distance, they barely heard the shouting of a guard. Soon, they would find Myranda's broken body and alert Ramsay. Then the Bolton would realize that his servant and his bride were no longer in their beds. Later on, he would become aware that the bastard from the crownlands had gone too. 

“Here!” Theon cried, climbing to the very edge of the stone parapet and helping them up. There was a sheer drop below. Rhaenys looked hopelessly at him. The fall could surely kill them. But he gazed at her, a familiar glint in his dark grey eyes. Reek’s eyes would have never shown like that; only Theon’s. He laced his fingers into Rhaenys’, his other hand into Sansa’s. 

Then they jumped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 40 CHAPTERS.
> 
> Ok, i'm aware that this isn't (by the laws of the universe) a proper proper AU since Rhaenys' survival and the proceeding events would have altered pretty much EVERYTHING. What I had in mind for this fanfic, was "what-if" Rhaenys was involved in canon events (which i know could not ever happen because butterfly effect and all).
> 
> Basically what I'm trying to say is its fiction and i'm doing what i want. Also worth noting that this is my FIRST longest ASOIAF/GOT fanfic that i have written. If you're someone who takes AU's very seriously then this probs aint the fanfic for you.
> 
> That said, thanks for putting up with 40 chapters of my word explosion.


	41. into the woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They ran into the wolfswood and did not stop.

They ran into the wolfswood and did not stop. 

Ramsay’s dogs would surely be set upon their backs when dawn came, if not sooner. The night was cold and shrouded with snow; they had no lanterns or stars to light and plan their way. All they knew was that terrible feeling of being hunted. 

When the sun started to rise, Rhaenys realized that they had been fleeing west.

“We won’t make it to White Castle,” Sansa said as they ran. Her breath was heavy with exhaustion and fear.

“Deepwood, then.” Rhaenys said, pulling Sansa along to keep their pace. She furrowed her brow at the sight of her good-sister. She hadn’t noticed in the night’s dark, but the black dye had been washed and wrung from Sansa’s hair; her tangled curls were Catelyn Stark’s auburn once more.

“Why there?” Theon asked, looking over his shoulder yet again.

“Your sister is there,” Rhaenys replied. “I came north aboard her ship. She despises Ramsay.” 

“You came aboard _Asha’s_ ship?” Theon repeated.

“Never mind that now!” Sansa urged. “We need to cross the river.”

As the morning settled, grey and and dark, they finally came before the nearly frozen White Knife. Theon hurried into the icy waters at once, reaching for Rhaenys’ and Sansa’s hands. “We have to cross here!” He breathed. As soon as Rhaenys placed her boot onto the ice, the sheet cracked and she nearly tumbled into the freezing waters.

“It’s too dangerous!” Sansa insisted, pulling Rhaenys away from the shore. “There has to be another way!”

“S-Sansa, we don’t have a c-choice,” Rhaenys stammered, cold water filling her boots and drenching her dress’s and cloak’s hems. 

“It’s this or Ramsay’s dogs, Sansa!” Theon said, grasping her wrist.

Sansa took a deep breath and all three started their careful wade across the river. The river did its name justice, cutting into them with frigid steel. As Rhaenys helped Sansa, she looked over her shoulder ever so often. Was it the wind’s howl or a hound’s cry she heard? She couldn’t tell…

Once they reached the other side of the river, they collapsed onto the frozen shores– but they couldn’t rest for long. Rhaenys laid on her back, narrowing her eyes at the bright grey sky. She was almost fearful for her dragon egg, until she reminded herself that the egg was nothing but stone.

“Come on,” Theon said, helping Rhaenys and Sansa to their feet. It was so cold, but starting a fire would mean disaster. Rhaenys placed her arm around Sansa, both of them trembling violently.

In the distance, they heard the warhorns and the dogs.

“Run!” Rhaenys urged and they rushed deeper into the wolfswood. The bite of the frozen waters had weakened them, their water-heavy clothes and cloaks slowing their pace.

“You two go!” Theon said, slowing his pace. “I can distract them!”

“We’re not leaving you!” Sansa cried, grabbing his arm. “The hounds will tear you to shreds!”

Suddenly, Rhaenys heard the heavy stride of a horse. “Someone’s coming!” She hissed, pulling them both behind an uprooted ironwood. Huddled behind the massive truck, they shook from the cold, fighting to steady their breaths.

A massive dark brown destrier ran from the thicket, his rider just as huge. Six other men atop horses fanned out behind him.

The large man had ruddy face and shaggy white beard. His cloak was dirty white, its hood the head of a snow bear. A white eye patch covered his left eye. Rhaenys saw his massive wooden shield; carved upon it was a roaring giant with its broken chains.

It seemed like forever since she last saw that sigil.

The Umber man dismounted, drawing his steel and examining them .“You three crossed the river?” He grunted.

“Yes,” Theon replied. “We’ve escaped from Winterfell.”

“Escape?” He lowered his sword. “I take none of you are Bolton’s.”

“Never,” Rhaenys said, her harsh tone coaxing a smile from the great man. “We share the same company, lass. We’ve been trying to lure out Bolton men from Winterfell.”

“Who do you fight for?” Sansa asked, still gripping Rhaenys’ hand.

“Stannis Baratheon,” The Umber replied.

Rhaenys drew a sharp cold breath. Stannis was alive after all.

“After Robb Stark was killed, we took up arms to fight in his name,” he continued. “Then Stannis and his armies came north. Said if he bent the knee, he’ll lay assault to the Boltons and Greyjoys, and help us reclaim Winterfell and the North.”

“You’ve bent the knee for Stannis?” Rhaenys asked, utterly dismayed. Robb had fought so long to prevent such from happening.

Even the Umber man looked sullen. “Our king is dead, lass! The Starks are all but gone, betrayed and murdered by the bloody Boltons. Our lands and people have been ravaged for almost a year! We never meant to bend the knee to a southron again, but here we are!” He spat. 

In the distance, dogs started to howl.

“Ramsay’s hounds!” Sansa told the Umber. He cursed and called for his men. “Take these three to Crofter’s!” He bellowed. “Stannis can deal with them!”

—

In two days time, they reached Crofters’ village. It was occupied by its namesake and dotted with a few huts. The meagre and desolate village also had a longhall and a watchtower by one of its two lakeshores. Rhaenys remembered the sad village from her child days, when Lord Stark took her, Sansa, Theon, and Robb to Deepwood Motte. They made camp there and scared each other with tales of ghosts. It had only grown more mean since she last saw it.

Outside of the longhall, a few familiar banners of the northern houses were hung. The largest banners belonged to Stannis Baratheon. They were different than Robert’s; Baratheon gold and black they were, but the crowned stag head was engulfed in a fiery red heart.

Rhaenys, Sansa, and Theon were led into the longhall. It was large enough for about fifty men. Stannis Baratheon and another man were stood at the head of the hall. Stannis’s heavy brow furrowed at the sight of them. 

“Where did these three come from?” He asked. He was a tall, broad shouldered and burly. His blue were dark eyes and hair black–just like that of his brother Robert. A dark beard was kept cropped against his gaunt jaws. His companion was much smaller than he was. He has brown haired and eyed, with a beard peppered with gray. He held a kinder look than his king did.

“Mors Umber found them near the White Knife, Your Grace. Said they escaped from Winterfell.”

Just as Umber heard ‘Winterfell’, Stannis also became very interested. “Leave us, except for you Davos,” he ordered. As the rest of the men left, Stannis looked intensely at Sansa.

“You look like Catelyn Stark,” he declared.

Sansa stiffened and the man called Davos took noticed. “Worry not and speak your mind, dear girl.”

She took a deep breath, before speaking her true name for the first time in such a while. “My name is Sansa. My father was Eddard Stark, my mother was Catelyn Stark.” She looked into the Baratheon’s dark blue eyes. “And my brother was Robb Stark.”

“My apologizes, Lady Sansa,” Stannis said. “Despite all that has happened, your mother and father were good people and i’m sure your elder brother was just the same.”

“Thank you… Your Grace,” Sansa replied.

“We heard Ramsay Bolton held _Arya_ Stark at Winterfell,” Davos said.

“He never did,” Sansa replied. “I don’t know where my sister is.”

“I also heard you were involved in Joffery’s death,” Stannis uttered.

“It’s not true, Your Grace!” Sansa insisted. “Cersei wanted someone to blame.”

“Of course, she would have pointed her fingers at you, that damn woman...” he sighed. “She has her imp brother locked away, just as she always wanted. I just want to know how you returned to Winterfell with her sister’s name.”

“A man called Petyr Baelish, Your Grace. He was a…friend of my mother,” Sansa explained. “He took me to Moat Cailin, to Lord Bolton and his son. I didn’t realize this plans before it was too late. Lord Baelish claimed I would have my chance at avenging Robb and my mother if I married Ramsay…”

Davos shook his head in disgust, as Stannis asked “were you not married to Tyrion Lannister?”

“Our marriage was never consummated.” 

Rhaeny glanced at Sansa in surprise; they hadn’t the change to speak about Tyrion. She was certain the Imp would have forced himself onto Sansa; even Stannis seemed perplexed. 

Then he looked at Rhaenys. “What’s your story, girl?”

“My name is Elly Waters, Your Grace,” she said, slipping back so easily into her bastardly veil.

“She helped me escape Winterfell,” Sansa said quickly. “Your Grace, I wouldn’t have made it without her.”

“I understand, my lady,” Stannis said, still looking at Rhaenys. “How long were you at Winterfell?”

“Only a few days. Lord Bolton had sent me from the Dreadfort to attend his son’s betrothed.”

“But you’ve risked your life to help her escape…why?”

“Ramsay is a horrible man, and his father murdered… Lady Sansa’s brother and mother. I helped her because it was the right thing to do.”

Stannis raised his eyebrow. “The right thing to do?” He repeated.

“Your Grace, the world it a terrible place as it is," Rhaenys remarked. "Why should I watch as men continue to make it terrible?”

Davos looked bemused, but Stanis said nothing else. “I supposed that leaves you,” he uttered, looking to Theon.

“I’m…Theon Greyjoy, Your Grace.” 

At once, Stannis’s gaze turned dark. “I’ve heard of you. You murdered Bran and Rickon Stark–there are plenty of men in this village alone that want you dead.”

“Your Grace, Theon didn’t kill my brothers!” Sansa exclaimed, before speaking of the miller’s boys and her brothers’ escape.

“Two innocent boys are still dead,” Davos declared. “And did this man not betray your house?”

Sansa didn’t say anything.

“Innocent of one crime, guilty of two others,” Stannis said, looking to Theon. “You will be held in the Watchtower, for your crimes and safety.” He turned back to Sansa. “You and Elly Waters can remain in my camp. Some of my men had gone to Deepwood to reclaim it from the ironborn. I await them before we march to Castle Black.”

“Castle Black, Your Grace?” Sansa asked.

“The men of the Night’s Watch wish to speak to me about threats from beyond the Wall,” Stannis explained. “Also, I promised Mors Umber Mance Ryder’s skull, in exchange for his fealty. The northerners have not been an easy people to win over.” He reached into his surcoat’s pocket, pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it to Sansa. It was a simple note, stamped with a faded green bear, and looked like it was written in a child’s hand:

_“Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is STARK.”_

Despite Stannis Baratheon standing before her, Rhaenys allowed herself a small smile.

“Lyanna Mormont– twelve years old and now the Lady of Bear Island,” Stannis grunted. “Her elder sister is dead and another sister, along with their mother, are missing.” 

He sighed heavily, looking to Sansa. “I sent your half-brother Jon Snow to Bear Island a fortnight ago, to treat with Lady Mormont.”

Rhaenys’ heart stirred with a joy that quickly tasted bitter as Sansa asked: “Jon bent the knee to you?” It was painful enough that some of the northern houses, as few as they were, had sworn fealty to Stannis. But Jon?

“Not _quite_.” Stannis said, taking the parchment back from her. “We met a month ago. He and some northern and crannog men were holding a ruin castle four days ride from Moat Cailin. My men and I were riding to Cailin to take it back from the ironborn– then Snow told us that Roose Bolton had seized it a moon ago.” He shook his head. “Your brother saved us from an ambush, my lady. Arnolf Karstark had tried to lure us there, _after_ swearing his fealty to me.”

“Aye, the Karstarks have sided with the Boltons long before Roose was named Warden of the North,” Davos spat. “I heard rumors they had first betrayed the Starks at the Twins.”

“Snow advised me on other matters. He's a good man, Lady Sansa. Yet, I offered him legitimacy and Winterfell if he supported me and he says 'Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa' and left it at that.”

“But he _did_ go to Bear Island, as _your_ envoy.” Sansa said.

“I offered him the second best thing to a lordship– his chance at vengeance,” Stannis said gravely. “For Robb Stark and his wife. For his father’s house.”

—

Rhaenys and Sansa watched as Theon was taken away to the Watchtower. The snowstorm had relented, leaving only a gentle fall of snow. The two looked at each other, yet to grow use to this peace. They wandered to the edge of one of the lakes; on a island in the middle of the waters grew an ancient weirwood.

“What happens now?” Sansa asked, lowering her voice. “I won’t bend the knee to Stannis.”

Rhaenys gazed out to the weirwood. Her faith in her crown was all but dead. She had no armies and no supporters. Braavos seemed like a silly dream from where she stood. “I have nothing to offer you. Stannis may reclaim the North and Winterfell yet.”

“You’re the true queen!” Sansa exclaimed. “You can’t give up! You promised me, Rhaenys! I will pledge the North to no other crown but _yours_.”

“Robb did the same, Sansa, and now he’s dead.”

“Don’t let him have died in vain!” She urged. “You loved him too much to let that happen!”

Rhaenys shoved the toe of her boot into the snow. “I’ve meant to go to Braavos, to gather new armies and willing men… but I never wanted to win my throne by tempting distant men with gold. A true crown would be supported by loyal men and women– people who would believe in my rule.”

“Rhae, the nothernmen here only support Stannis because they despise the Boltons. Once they know that you’re Robb’s widow and my good-sister, they’ll swear you fealty.”

“Stannis will have me killed,” Rhaenys replied. 

“If he does, then they will kill him in return.”

Rhaenys looked at Sansa, who used to flinch away at the mere mention of bloodshed. “I hope you’re right, Sansa,” she said, looking out to the lake’s horizon. 

A wolf howled, somewhere in the woods. Sansa smiled sadly at the sound. “A singer came to the Vale, for Lord Baelish’s wedding,” she recalled. “He sang of a 'wolf in the night', and said he written it for Robb.” 

“Rymund the Rhymer,” Rhaenys said. “He sang it at Riverrun…" Even Edmure Tully, who hated singers, allowed Rymund to fill the Great Hall with his song. Rhaenys thought it lovely, while Robb was rather amused... 

_“The stars in the night were the eyes of his wolf, and the wind itself was their song…”_ Sansa sang, low and sweet, before breaking from the melody. “Rymund told me one of the greatest honors that someone could be given was a song…but Robb was worth more than a song.”

“He never wanted a song,” Rhaneys said dully. “He just wanted to come home.”

Sansa’s blue eyes pooled with sorrow. “You’re alive, Rhaenys. I _know_ if your life meant his death, he would have gladly died a thousand times.”

Rhaenys bowed her head, tears coming to her eyes. She reached into her satchel, which was kept hidden beneath her cloak. “I’ve something to show you…” 

When she pulled away the shawl from the dragon egg, Sansa’s eyes widened in astonishment, her sadness fleeing her. “Rhaenys, is that…”

“A dragon egg.”

“Where did it come from?” She asked, her voice hushed.

“Winterfell’s crypts,” Rhaenys replied. “Do you remember Old Nan's story? The one about Vermax?”

Sansa nodded, gently skimming the surface with her fingers. "It's so cold…"

Rhaenys frowned. It felt warm to her touch, even as she traced the edge of the scales with her fingertips….

She didn’t know why, but it comforted her. It was more than a stone egg. The flecks of blue reminded her of The Summer Seas. Of the Water Gardens's pools, where she used to play with her cousins. Of the summer skies of the North. Of the petals of winter roses. Of Robb’s eyes, and how they used to shown when he laughed and smiled.

Rhaenys hugged the dragon egg to her chest, and she began to sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail Stannis, the Al Gore of Westeros.


	42. the dragon in the north

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The fires stopped when twilight began."

Rhaenys sat at the edge of the lakeshore, watching the weirwood’s red pointed leaves tremble in the wind. They looked like spots of blood against the world of white. She had never seen the North as such, eclipsed entirely in snow, visited so often by such bitter winds and darker days.

Rhaenys would always remember her first snowfall. She was fourteen, and had taken five year old Arya on a short ride along the rolling hills near Winterfell. As they returned home, their first snows began. Arya ran around the yard, trying to catch snowflakes in her outstretched palms; Rhaenys did exactly the same, must to the amusement of others.

The summer snows came again, just before Robb began to court her. Rhaenys had been watching it fall, a small smile on her face as she did so; snow had never ceased to be wondrous to the Dornish girl. Not far away was Robb, watching his betrothed with a smile and a blossoming realization. When Rhaenys finally caught him gazing at her, they looked upon one another; her heart had started to flutter in the most unfamiliar way.

Rhaenys blinked the past away, her blurry gaze returning to the lonely weirwood in the lake. She struck the frozen ground with her fist, as the nesting grief stretched its bony wings inside her chest. 

Behind her, she heard the sound of boots crunching in the snow. At once, Rhaenys composed herself, ready to blame her red and watery eyes on the brisk wind. She looked over her shoulder to see Shireen Baratheon.

“Hello, Princess,” Rhaenys called out. Shireen was a girl of twelve, Stannis’s only child and heir. She had the Baratheon blue eyes and black hair, along with her mother’s large ears. A plain girl made more unsightly by the greyscale that had covered the left half of her left cheek, the skin cracked and flaked, gray and black. A sweet yet sad girl, bestowing kindness upon everyone she met.

“Hello Elly,” Shireen replied brightly, her good cheek rosy from the cold. She frowned at Rhaenys. “Have you been crying?”

“No... I have yet to grow use to these cold winds.”

“Pity Father hadn’t allowed our maester to come with us,” Shireen said, sitting next to Rhaenys. “He would know what to do.”

“Don’t worry about me, Princess.”

“Mother said no one worries about bastards because no one cares about them,” Shireen said. “But you’re nice.”

Shireen’s mother and Stannis’s stern queen Selyse Florent, who preferred her daughter away from the company of Elly Waters. The only warmth about her was the fiery god she worshiped, R'hllor.

“That’s kind of you to say,” Rhaenys said, smiling at the girl. Shireen returned the smile, though hers was solemn. “Father worries more and more these days. He’s frets about the snow.”

The snowfall had grown heavier since Rhaenys, Sansa, and Theon were brought to Crofters’, nearly six days ago. Stannis was eager to begin his long march to Castle Black and for his men to return from Deepwood to begin a siege on Winterfell. Yet, the snow squalls hardly relented; when they rested, it was rather fleetingly.

“Winter is coming– the Starks’ words,” Rhaenys told the princess. 

“Isn’t it here already?”

“No,” Rhaenys replied, remembering what Lord Stark once said to her. “Winter is more than ice and cold. It is darkness and sorrow and tales worthy enough to scare kings.”

Shireen shuddered. “I hope we’ll return to Dragonstone before the winter comes.”

Rhaenys didn’t have the heart to let Shireen know that winter would come for them all, in the end. Even to Dragonstone, the place where they were both born.

Off in the distance, near the village’s mouth, came the clamorous sounds of men and horses. Rhaenys and Shireen turned their heads just in time to see them stream into Crofters’, Stannis’ banners waving in the wind.

“They’re back!” Shireen exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Rhaenys rose as well, the satchel under her cloak nudging her hip as she stood. She had started to keep her dragon egg close at all times, fearful that Stannis would discover it and have it cast into one of the lakes.

Rhaenys saw the scarlet banners, embroidered with the silver fist of House Glover. Other northern banners had join them, including the green and black of House Mormont and those of some of the mountain clans: Flint, Wull, Norrey and Liddle.

“Come on, Elly!” Shireen said, breathless at her Father’s victory. They hurried to where the men had gathered, in front of the longhall where Stannis stood, with Selyse and the red priestess, Melisandre.

Melisandre of Asshai was a great beauty, with cascading hair of dark copper and vivid green eyes. Her skin was ivory and unblemished, made paler by the dark red and crimson clothing she was so fond of. She was mysterious and exotic and Rhaenys did not trust her.

Stannis’s men must have reclaimed Deepwood Motte. The northernmen shouted praises to King Stannis and his queen, hailing his rule and pledging their swords, if they did not already. Rhaenys looked around for Sansa, and saw her standing some ways away. She appeared weary.

“House Mormont stands with King Stannis!” A woman shouted. Rhaenys’ eyes widened in shock, as she recognized Alysane Mormont’s voice. She craned forward to look upon her friend, The Young She-Bear. Shireen was too enthralled with the scene, and did not notice as Rhaenys edged away from the group. Alysane would recognize her in a heartbeat. She skirted around one of the huts, watching them from afar. 

Several ironborn captives were brought before Stannis, and forced to kneel before him. One of them was a woman, with shorn black hair. Rhaenys cursed–it was Asha Greyjoy. 

Though Rhaenys was glad Deepwood Motte was returned to Lady Glover, she would have rather heard of Asha escaping the North on _The Black Wind_. She watched as the groups dispersed and as Asha and the ironborn were taken to the Watchtower; a brother and sister were about to be reunited.

Rhaenys darted to the tent she and Sansa shared; moments later, the latter joined her. “Alysane went with Stannis to the longhall, with the other bannermen.”

“Seven hells, I can’t keep this up forever,” Rhaenys scowled, sitting upon her cot.

“At least you’re a bastard,” Sansa said. “They tend to be expected to keep their distance.”

“Now I know how Jon feels.”

Sansa smiled. “Stannis said that Jon advised him to have his men march to the northern mountains before Deepwood, to win the mountain clans’ support.”

“They’ve always been loyal to the Starks,” Rhaenys replied. “Speaking of which, you ought to meet with the northern houses and clans. You’re their liege-lady now.”

Sansa looked intimidated at the thought of speaking as the Lady of Winterfell. “Rhaenys, I–”

“The northerners are loyal to their own, even before to their king,” Rhaenys said. “Stannis knows this and he may try to use that to his advantage.”

“He already has,” Sansa pointed out. “Getting the mountain clans to fight in Father’s and Robb’s names, swearing to kill Mance Rayder, promising to punish Theon for his crimes–”

Rhaenys stared at her. _“What?!”_

“Stannis told me before the men returned,” Sansa replied. “The reason Theon is even still alive is for his information about the Boltons.”

“How does Stannis mean to punish him?”

Sansa turned pale. “ Burned alive, as a sacrifice to that red god.”

 _Isn’t that what I once wished unto Theon? Burned alive?_ Rhaenys thought. But her rancor for him had died even before they fled Winterfell. “Ramsay has punished him enough.”

“I agree, but Stannis thinks otherwise.”

“He has obviously never met Ramsay Bolton.”

—

Rhaenys ventured out carefully, as the snows started once again. According to Sansa, more men and horses had gone to Deepwood but many did not return. Stannis’s great victory wouldn’t mean anything if they were snowed in, and if his men were claimed by black frost.

Alysane was still in the longhall, giving Rhaenys a chance of leaving the tent. She felt more and more restless, the weight of her false bastard name growing heavier everyday. Yet, she gritted her teeth and bore the weight; death was keeping her alive.

Rhaenys glanced around the village, perhaps hoping to spy Shireen at play. The poor girl was lonely and bored, left to wander the camp. She grew fond of ‘Elly’ and Sansa, the latter showing her how to make snow castles.

Instead, Rhaenys saw a red cloaked figure, a drop of blood against the white; perhaps less than a drop and more like a bleeding wound. She wanted to look away from the woman, to avoid her arcane green gaze once more. Rhaenys didn’t have the chance, for Melisandre approached her with a graceful gait.

“Elly Waters,” she spoke, her voice like running water and tinged with accent.

“My lady,” Rhaenys replied. 

Melisandre’s eyes burned into her like Aerys’ wildfire, as if she hoped to scorch Rhaenys’ flesh away and find secrets etched on her blackened bones. “The snows grow dark, Elly. You should be weary of what they can bring.”

“I’m not afraid,” Rhaenys replied. In the distance, a wolf howled. Soon, others joined.

“Not even of wolves?”

“ _Especially_ not of wolves.”

Melisandre furrowed her brow, amused. “Why is it, Elly Waters, that when I look into the flames, R'hllor shows me your face?”

Thoros of Myr had seen Rhaenys’ face in his own fires, and spoke of a great fate that his god had weaved for her– he had also heard her true name.

“I wouldn’t know,” Rhaenys replied. “Perhaps you should ask Him yourself.”

“Oh, I have,” the red priestess said. “From the moment we’ve met eyes, I have prayed to the Lord of Light, to speak to me of this bastard girl. He only ever shows me your face.”

“I don’t know the ways of your god.” Rhaenys opined. “I pray to different ones, my lady,”

“Yet, you’ve known the touch of mine.”

Rhaenys bowed her head politely, dread warming her blood. “My lady, i’ve known nothing but the shadows of the crownlands and the light of the Seven.”

“You also know a great and terrible sadness,” Melisandre uttered. “It covers you like a veil, long meant to be your shroud.”

“We’ve all known sadness.”

“Not like yours, Elly.”

Melisandre knew _something_. Rhaenys was certain of it. How ever much she knew, she kept it only to herself.

“Have you seen His Grace in your fires?” Rhaenys asked, hoping to divert their conversation away from her.

“Before I even met him myself,” she replied. “I came to him, certain that he was our true hero, promised to return and wave the darkness away.”

It seemed more like a song or a story, though Rhaenys didn’t dare repeat such to Lady Melisandre; Selyse wore the crown, but the red woman was Stannis’ true queen, his long red shadow.

“When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone,” Melisandre spoke, her accent edging the words eerily.

Rhaneys furrowed her brow. Those were also Thoro’s words, spoken in his own exhausted tone– the reason he beseeched his red god to wake her from death.“You believe King Stannis is your Azor Ahai?”

“No other could take his place,” Melisandre remarked. “He is the one true king.”

Rhaenys bowed her head, as if in reverence to her words; instead, it was to hide her misgivings. “As you say, my lady.”

Melisandre gently cupped Rhaenys’ chin , raising her head so that brown eyes met green. “You’ve too young of a soul to be swathed with so much sorrow and malice,” she murmured. “The night is dark and full of terrors– you best be careful, before you become one of them.”

—

_She was back within the grey walls of Winterfell, in the Great Keep by the look of it. Not a soul roamed about, leaving Rhaenys to an empty castle. Desperate to find anyone, she hurried up the stairwell. Her only company was of the sound of the howling winds._

_She found herself in front of a familiar chamber door; the room she and Robb used to share. Rhaenys could hear the sounds of a roaring hearth within. Suddenly frightened, she opened the door, unsure of what to expect…_

_The room was exactly how Rhaenys last saw it, except for the wooden cradle next to the bed. A man was sitting on the mattress– he looked up at her, his azure eyes bright with life and that knowing smile on his face._

_“Rhaenys.”_

_She wanted weep tears of both joy and woe. Her wolf had returned to her, and that was how she knew it was a dream._

_“Robb,” She breathed, running to him and throwing her arms around his neck. He chuckled, as she nearly knocked them back against the pillows. “Easy, Rhae,” he murmured, tightening his own hold on her._ He feels so real! _Rhaenys thought in anguish, burying her face in the crook of his neck._

_She broke the embrace to look upon his face, to cup his cheek tenderly. Robb smiled, taking her hand and kissing it._

_Rhaenys had all but forgotten about the cradle. Direwolves and dragons were carved upon it–nestled in the soft white furs were two black-haired babes. One was soundly asleep; the other was awake and staring up at Rhaenys in wonder, with round azure eyes._

_“Your son’s awake,” Robb smiled, lifting him gently from his coverlets and placing him into Rhaenys’ arms._

My son? _She thought, cradling the babe and gazing upon his face. At once, the other baby started to cry. “And there’s Elia,” Robb said, taking their daughter into his arms._

 _Eddard and Elia. Their little prince and princess._ One of each…

_Rhaenys’ gently touched her son’s tiny palm with her finger. Eddard smiled and grasped it, his eyes never wavering from hers. Rhaenys smiled, and tears ran down her cheeks. When she looked over to Robb, she saw that his eyes were red as well._

_“This is a dream, Robb,” Rhaenys said softly, her voice thick. “When I wake, the three of you will be gone.”_

_“I’m sorry, my love,” Robb murmured._

_Rhaenys held Eddard close to her chest, his cheek over her heart. She looked lovingly upon Elia, who was staring at her through sleepy blue eyes._

_“Can’t I stay with you?”_

_What if this was not a dream? What if this was the vale that the red priest had denied her? But Robb smiled sadly and kissed her temple. “As much as I want to be selfish…you don’t belong in a world of dreams, Rhaenys.”_

_“Neither do you,” She lamented, touching her forehead to Robb’s._

_They gazed at each other, their children asleep. Then, Rhaenys kissed Eddard’s brow, before returning him to the cradle. Before Robb laid Elia next to her brother, Rhaenys kissed her daughter between her eyes. She watched them nestled together, her heart heavy in her chest._

_Finally, she looked upon him. “I’ll find you again, Robb.” Rhaenys promised, kissing him for the last time. “You will return to me…” She grasped his hand, which was turning cold as the dream began to fade. Robb smiled, knowing and loving, as he had always kept for her, and let her hand fall from his._

Rhaenys woke, her face wet from tears. She clenched her cold hands, trying to warm them quickly. It was dark with night, and Sansa was still asleep. Rhaenys fumbled for the satchel, for her dragon egg. She curled back onto her mattress, the egg nestled close to her chest, her cold hand resting on the warm shell.

—

The snows still refused to relent and Stannis Baratheon grew agitated. Men and horses were dying, succumbing to the cold and frost. For another fortnight, they were snowed in. It grew worse one night, when Ramsay’s men crossed the river and started fires, burning tents and supplies that were set along the outer rim of the vast encampment. More men and horses were lost, along with much of the food supplies. They would surely starve before the new moon. Desperate, Stannis had sent his Hand, Davos Seasworth, and a few other men to brave the storms and gather supplies from Castle Black. 

On the night of Ramsay’s fires, a blood stained letter had been left for Stannis Baratheon, on the corpse of a Baratheon man, kept from being wind blown by a knife.

Sansa spoke of its words, Ramsay’s words, to Rhaenys the evening it had been found; he had demanded the return of his ‘bride’, along with his ‘loyal servant’ and the ‘crownlands bastard.’ 

“Is that all?” Rhaenys asked dryly. “Perhaps he should demand everything south of the White Knife, since he seems so bold.”

“The Boltons bent the knee to Tommen,” Sansa reminded her. In the distance, they heard the dreadful sounds of a horse being slaughtered for its meat. “They don’t care who wears the crown, now that Lord Bolton is Warden of the North,”

“Warden of a _Broken_ North,” Rhaenys muttered. “If Ramsay knows we’re here, how come he hasn’t marched his men into Stannis’ camp yet?”

“Because that’s not how he plays his games, Rhae,” Sansa said darkly. “He takes pleasure in starving his enemies out and receiving word of their suffering, before he moves in like crows to slowly pick at their dying bodies.”

“He’s a coward,” Rhaenys scoffed. “What does Stannis intend to do?”

“He wants to lay siege on Winterfell soon,” Sansa replied. “He also thinks I should go to Deepwood for safety.”

“Perhaps you should– the further you are from Ramsay, the better.”

“I want to stay here!” Sansa retorted. “I want to see Ramsay’s and Roose’s corpses for myself, before I have them fed to those horrible dogs.”

—

Early mornings had quickly become Rhaenys’ favored time of day. No one would espy her minding her peace, nor did she had to answer to the name ‘Elly’; during the grey lights of dawn, she was Rhaenys.

She walked along the lakeshore, closer to the edge of the wolfswood and comforted by the weight of dragon egg under her cloak. The dream of Robb and their children still sweetly haunted her, but she knew that that dwelling upon dreams would witlessly tempt her from life.

Rhaenys sighed, her breath a white brume in the frigid air. She was meant to be queen, yet she was afraid. She could shed away her bastardly veil, and wear her true name once again. Sansa was certain the northerners would abandon Stannis for her, yet Rhaenys was afraid. Tomorrow was never certain– she learned that to her sorrows.

In the distance, closer to the smaller lake’s shore, Rhaenys saw a red-cloaked figure. Others had gathered with her, most of the bannermen, before what looked like a carelessly raised stake. Fear clawed Rhaenys’ heart. Did Stannis mean to burn Theon after all?! At once, Rhaenys ran to where they convened. 

She found Sansa standing behind the ranks, her face bloodless.

“What’s happening?” Rhaenys asked.

“I don’t know!” Sansa replied, gripping Rhaenys’ wrist. “But Theon and Asha were brought out…”

Before they could move any closer to the stake and fear for Theon’s life, Shireen Baratheon walked pass them, surrounded by her father’s men. The men parted way for them, and Rhaenys watched as Shireen stopped before Melisandre.

Suddenly, Shireen went from placid to absolutely terrified. “Where’s my father?!” She demanded, her voice shaking. “I want to see my father!”

“It will all be over, before you know it,” Melisandre replied, her voice calm.

Rhaenys saw as Shireen shook her head and turned to run from the red woman. Her guards grabbed her, lifting her off her feet as they carried her to the stake–her pyre. She struggled, screaming for her father.

“She’s going to kill her!” Sansa gasped.

“We need to find Stannis!” Rhaenys urged, pulling Sansa along as they ran from the hosts. Did Melisandre really believe Stannis would forgive such a thing?!

As soon as they reached his command tent, Stannis Barathron emerged, his face pale and blank.

“Your Grace, Melisandre is going to burn your–” Sansa started, but Stannis held up his hand to silence her.

“I _know_ , Lady Stark.” 

Behind them, Shireen was still pleading and shrieking to no avail.

“You’re just going to let her!?” Sansa cried. “She’s your daughter!” 

“It’s a good thing,” Selyse replied, as she left the tent, her eyes stony, “It’s a good thing…” 

“You’d see your own child burnt to death?!” Rhaenys spat.

“If we don’t act, we will all die.” Stannis murmured, not heeding her unruly tone. “There’s no other way– she has king’s blood…”

Rhaenys glared at the man who dared called himself a king. He was no better than Aerys, Robert, or Joffery.

“King’s blood?” Sansa repeated darkly.

“It what the Lord wants…” Selyse answered. 

The world seemed to have fallen away, everything light and feathery. The only weight Rhaenys was aware of was that of her dragon egg, resting in the satchel under her cloak. Words from a faraway place and man found her;

_Light your pyre, let a dragon be born._

In a moment of madness and fleeting thoughts that would have never made sense if spoken out loud, Rhaenys ran, rushing to Melisandre and her torch. 

Men moved from her path, their expressions varying from shocked to horrified as Shireen was tied to the stake. Theon and Asha were being held closer to the front of the pyre; their dark grey eyes widened at the sight of Rhaneys. 

“Melisandre!” Rhaenys cried.

The red woman turned from Shireen, her green eyes burning with reverence for her god. “Return to your lady, Elly Waters. You will only incur His wrath.”

But Rhaenys did not yield. “How can you do this!? She’s just a girl!”

“The Lord of Light demands her king’s blood,” Melisandre said placidly. “Only then will He grant His favor upon us. Only then will the snows rest and our victories won.”

Melisandre was nothing more than a demon with a woman’s flesh. Just as she turned away from her, Rhaenys shrieked: “My grandfather was King Aerys!” She lulled, to allow her words to settle. “And his father was King Jaehaerys!”

The red priestess stiffened. Behind them, the ranks of men were riddled with bewilderment. Asha gaped at her and Theon started to yell, about what she was doing. Melisandre turned around to face Rhaenys again, her dark brows furrowed. “What did you say?”

“Shireen is only a girl!” Rhaenys pleaded. “If you want king’s blood, take mine!” She felt the weight of the dragon egg, and the Lorathi man’s words echo again and again.

Melisandre said nothing, her expression dark yet utterly mystified. Perhaps some things were becoming clear to her; or perhaps she was wondering why her Lord of Light did not speak to her of this.

All watched as Stannis strode to them and grabbed Rhaenys’ by her arm. “What madness are you speaking?!” He demanded. Behind him, Sansa was being held back by Baratheon men.

Rhaenys looked up at him, her dark eyes burning. “My name is Rhaenys! My father was Rhaegar Targaryen, and my mother was Elia Martell. My husband was Robb Stark.”

Closer to where they stood and surely throughout, the ranks gasped and cried out. Many of them had heard of Rhaenys Targaryen, be it Rhaegar’s daughter, Elia’s daughter, Ned Stark’s ward, Robb Stark's wife, the Queen in the North, the Queen of All Westeros…

Stannis grasped her arm tightly. “Rhaenys Targaryen has been dead for months! Killed at the Twins, along with Stark!

“Ask Sansa!” Rhaenys insisted. “Ask Theon, ask Alysane Mormont!”

At once, Stannis turned to Sansa. “Lady Stark, who is this woman?! She came to to my camp a bastard, now she claims to be your brother’s dead wife.”

Sansa looked whiter than the snow falling around them, looking hopelessly at Rhaenys. _It’s alright!_ Rhaenys wanted to tell her good sister. _It’s alright, Sansa!_

“H-Her name is Rhaenys,” Sansa said at last. “She survived my family’s slaughter, and came North to find me.” She looked at Stannis, her blue eyes pleading. “Please, Your Grace, she’s my sister, as good as any! She lied about her name to ward away more harm!”

But Stannis Baratheon turned to Melisandre. “My brother wanted this girl dead before she even flowered!” he said. 

“Because she’s the rightful queen,” Alysane Mormont remarked, approaching Stannis. The Young She-Bear looked upon Rhaenys’ face with dolor. “Gods be good, it’s truly you! I thought you dead for so long!”

“Yes, everyone did!” Stannis spat. He turned to one of his bannermen. “Get my daughter down from there and bind this one!”

“ _RHAENYS!_ ” Sansa shrieked, as the Baratheon men held on to her. Theon and even Asha started to struggle against their guards. Alysane was dragged away, cursing and spitting, by four men.

“It’s alright, Sansa…” Rhaenys promised, as the men wrenched her to the stake and tied her immediately. 

Melisandre looked upon her with intrigue, as she called for her torch to be lit.

“Elly, what are you doing?!” Shireen yelled, as her father grabbed her. 

“She’s not Elly, Shireen.” Stannis said coldly, as Selyse joined them. 

Rhaenys held no fear in her heart, as Melisandre started to speak the words of her god.

 _“Hear us now, my Lord..”_ Sansa was still screaming and Theon was calling Stannis Baratheon a craven and murderer…

 _“For you, we offer up this woman…”_ Rhaenys breathed deeply, the dragon egg heavy against her side.

 _“That you may cleanse her with your fire and that its light may lead our way…”_ Fire cannot kill a dragon, and it was Rhaenys who was fated to cleanse the world with fire.

 _”Accept this token of our faith, my Lord, and lead us from the darkness…”_ Rhaenys stared into the pale horizon, where the wolfswood loomed. She had to be bolder than the fires, otherwise they would consume her.

 _“Lord of Light, show us the way. Lord of Light, protect us…”_

Melisandre looked into Rhaenys’ dark eyes. _“For the night is dark and full of terrors.”_

She lit the pyre.

The fire licked and hissed at Rhaenys’ feet, smoke unfurling into the cold air. Red, orange, and yellow danced at her hem as they took over her. Ash and cinders started to casade upon her like falling flowers. The flames ate at the wood, the falling snow, her cloak, her dress. Something heavy fell at her feet and onto the collapsing wood, its dark silver shell flickering in the firelight.

When Rhaenys heard it shatter, she was certain the sky had been cracked opened. She looked up, but only saw the pillar of dark grey and the firestorm that had claimed her. In the midst of the fire’s song, she could still hear the men and how they cursed. A child was weeping, for sorrow and terror. A girl had been screaming her name, her voice like a howl.

 _I made you a promise, Sansa._ Rhaenys thought. _You’ve nothing to fear._ I _am the last dragon._

—

The men had left, leaving the woman they thought dead to yet another death. Stannis had been the first to leave the sight of the pyre. His wife soon followed, demanding that her daughter did the same. Shireen did, but for only a while. She returned to the lake to find Sansa still knelt in the snow, and tears frozen on her bloodless face. Theon and Asha were with her, watching the fire burn and burn. Alysane watched with the Greyjoys, her heart aching at the death of the woman she once called friend and queen.

The fires stopped when twilight began. The snows had stopped as well, the skies a banner of grey, dark blues, fading orange, and pink– the most beautiful evenfall that had been seen in a while.

Rhaenys was lying on her flank, curled up on the charred ground, which was still warm from the flames and dying embers. Her cloak and dress had long gone to ash, but the cold did not seem to touch her naked and sooty skin.

Nestled to her chest was a dragon of blue and dark silver. 

No bigger than a cat, it hissed softly at her, blinking its ice-blue eyes. At the sound of a child shouting, the dragon babe tilted its head, before hissing again. “It’s alright…” Rhaenys murmured. At her voice, the dragon made a purring-like sound. 

Rhaenys smiled, slowing rising from the ground. The dragon cried, scurrying to drape itself along her shoulder. As she stood, Stannis’s men started to gather once more, to see what Shireen Barathon had been shouting to her father about. The dragon curled its serpentine self around Rhaenys’ neck, its tail hanging just above her breast. It purred again, prodding her jaw with its horned head.

Speachless were the men and women, as they looked upon the woman who should have died twice, and the beast that should have been dead for hundreds of years. Her eyes misty with rapture, Sansa unfastened her cloak with trembling fingers and ran to Rhaenys. The dragon hissed at her, but Rhaenys calmed it with a soft word.

The dragon purred again, moving from her shoulder to scale the back of her neck and head; its tiny talons gripped her hair as it stretched its sinuous neck to look upon the gathered people. Sansa took that chance to drape her cloak over Rhaenys.

The dragon babe cried loudly, as Stannis and Melisandre approached them. The red priestess’s already pale skin was bloodless, her expression aghast. At her side, Stannis Baratheon could not find a word.

 _ **“Impossible,”**_ Melisandre spoke to herself, in High Valyrian, as though to veil her true incredulity from the Common Tongued people. _**“I did not see this in His flames…”**_

 _ **“Has your god forsaken you, my lady?”**_ Rhaenys asked, also in High Valyrian–-the Targaryens’ mother tongue, first instilled into her by Rhaegar, continued by a septa in Sunspear, and made perfect by Maester Luwin.

Melisandre’s dark brows furrowed. _**“You speak Valyrian?”**_

 _ **“I am Rhaenys, of the House Targaryen and the blood of Old Valyria.”**_ Rhaenys looked upon the red priestess’s bleak face, and smiled. _**“My tongue was Valyrian the moment I was born.”**_

Melisandre clenched her jaw as Stannis Barathron finally spoke. “What is this?!”

“This is the end of your claim, _Lord_ Stannis,” Rhaenys said. She looked to the other men and women that had returned to the her pyre.

“The man you called king would have fed his own child to the flames if it meant winning his battles!” She shouted. “Is that the king you want to be ruled by?!”

Stannis made a sudden movement, as though to run and seize her. Then the dragon babe hissed again–no one moved.

“I know you've grown tired of those false kings, those pretenders. The murderers, betrayers, usurpers, and kinslayers!“ Rhaenys spat. “I know I am. I’ve suffered at the hands of all of them!

She spoke once more, before the sun’s dying light left the sky.

“I’ve lived enough days of death. Death favors no one, but now I hold a slight of that favor! You can either watch the fires from afar, or witness them by my side, with your banners flown high along with my house's tattered ones. Who will ride with me?!”

They started to kneel. Sansa had been the first, along with Theon and Asha. The men and women of the North followed. Even Stannis Baratheon’s own men knelt. Stannis watched in anger and despair as his ranks renounced him and his crown. Selyse gripped her husband’s arm, her face blank. Shireen clutched her mother’s skirts, unsure of what to do. Melisandre only stared at Rhaenys, her expression one of shattered faith.

The dragon babe unfurled its gossamer blue wings and shrieked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was by far, my favorite chapter to write. If you want to fight me over the specifics, of how the egg hatched, then meet me in the parking lot. I'm still not 100% sure HOW Danys hatched her eggs; there's the theories of returning magic, 'death pays for life', etc. 
> 
> Also "why didn't Rhaenys hair burned off???11" I don't understand why the hair would burn and not the skin, like they're both made of keratin so its makes better sense for all of Rhaenys and Daenerys to remain intact (fight me GRRM).
> 
> Also, "why would Robb's and Rhaenys' babies have blue eyes and not brown, brown is the dominant eye color!!1111" i don't care. There are dragons and purple eyes, for gods sake. 
> 
> DRAGONS PURR IM MAKING THIS A THING
> 
> ALSO, I'm doing Rhaenys and Daenerys parallels on purpose because i really like the parallels in ASOIAF.


	43. when the smoke clears away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys emerged from the fires a queen reborn, with a dragon hatchling in her arms. But before anything else, her first fight is with the Boltons, to reclaim the castle she called home, to restore the North, and to avenge her beloved wolf.

Even though she had washed away the soot from her skin and hair, she could still smell the cinders of the fiery flowers.

After Rhaenys dressed, she sat on the cot as Sansa braided her damp hair into a crown around her head; both watched as the dragon babe slept soundly. 

The dragon was a she, the scales along her serpentine body dark silver. Her delicate wings were no longer than Rhaenys’ arm, the gossamer skin taut and fanned between slender bones–their color was a beautiful dark frost. The same blue was slashed on places along her body.

“What will you call her?” Sansa asked, her fingers nimble in Rhaenys’ hair. “The first Rhaenys rode Meraxes.” 

“Meraxes was named for a god of Old Valyria,” Rhaenys said, smiling at the sleeping dragon in her lap, and caressing the horned and crested head with her fingertip. “But this little one was born anew, as will be her name.”

As Sansa completed the braid, Rhaenys turned to look at her. “She will be called ‘Sonaral’– for winter.” For the frost of her wings, as well as for the darkness and sorrow and tales worthy enough to scare kings.

“Sonaral,” Sansa repeated, placing her hand on Rhaenys’ shoulder as she looked upon hatchling. “She’ll be as fearsome as the winter Father spoke of.”

Rhaenys reached to gently squeeze her hand; then she carefully gathered the sleeping dragon in her arms as she stood.

“You should rest first,” Sansa insisted; though her good-sister emerged from the fires unburnt, she was still fretful.

“I’ve rested long enough,” Rhaenys replied.

She left their tent for Crofter’s longhall. The snows seemed to have finally stopped, the wind fading to a gentle caress. Inside the hall, Stannis Baratheon awaited the queen’s judgment. 

Every one of his bannermen bent the knee after Rhaenys survived the red woman’s fires, and seemingly birthed a dragon into the world. They were horrified that the man they called king meant to have his own daughter sent to the same flames. If a man would willingly sacrifice his child so easily, then what of his men? The northernmen, as Sansa had hoped, eagerly welcomed back Robb Stark’s beloved wife as their queen. They knew for certain that the North would be restored back to its glory.

Rhaenys expected to see wrath and spite in Stannis’ dark blue eyes, for casting away his false crown; instead, she only saw sorrows and defeat. 

“Leave us,” she said to his guards. As they left, Rhaenys and Stannis looked upon one another. The Baratheon hardly resembled his brother Robert, apart from hair and eyes. Perhaps they did once, before the weight of Robert’s flesh, crown, and demons.

“Rhaenys Targaryen,” Stannis said, his voice quiet and without malice. “My faith in the gods had long drowned, with my mother and father…yet, it would seem you hold _someone’s_ favor.” He gazed at the dragon hatchling in her arms. “Either that, or you’ve simply chose to defy them.”

“Perhaps they don’t know what to make of me.” Rhaenys replied. She expected to confront a usurper, but standing before her was a defeated and remorseful man. 

“The Targaryens were like their dragons– they answered to neither gods or men.” Stannis said.

“Who did you answer to? A red women with her red god, telling you to send your own child to the fires?”

Stannis clenched his fist, his pale skin taut over his knuckles. “I knew the cost. I knew the cost of my crown. I saw things in the fires, or things I thought I saw…”

Rhaenys stared at him, her dark eyes unyielding like iron. “And when that crown was yours, when you were standing before a dark and loveless throne, would you have thought that the price was worth it?”

Stannis looked at her, the truth of his decisions bearing down upon him. “My daughter is worth more than a crown, but I couldn’t see that until I had her pulled from the pyre, alive.”

“And Renly?” Rhaneys asked. “What was your brother’s worth when you had him murdered?”

He shook his head, in despair. “When we held parley at Storm’s End, he offered me a peach. I saw him reaching into his cloak and thought he was drawing a blade, so I reached for mine– but it was only a peach. He spoke of how sweet it was, how short our lives were. Days later, he was dead. In my dreams, I still see Renly and his sweet peach, along with the blood spilling from his throat…”

He sighed heavily. “Had I done my duty as a brother, we would have fought and broken Tywin Lannister, in Robert’s memory.” 

Sonaral stirred slightly in Rhaenys’ arms. “Ask yourself, my lord, what would you have truly gained, if the blood of your loved ones melded with the that of your enemies?” Rhaenys asked.

Stannis Baratheon looked at her in defeat; it wasn’t at the remains of the pyre that Rhaenys Targaryen had truly overcome him– it was at that moment, in that longhall.

“Do your duty, Queen Rhaenys–my deeds have reached me, at last.”

“You’re a kinslayer, Lord Stannis– such is punishable by death,” Rhaenys said. “But I need your fealty and command. I need your men and the Stormlands. I need Winterfell reclaimed. Until this war finally sees its last day, i’m declaring you Lord of Storm’s End.” 

Stannis furrowed his brow. “Your Gra–”

“You will see trial and judgment, my lord.” Rhaenys vowed. “But I want this war over.”

He bowed his head. “Yes, Your Grace. As do I.” 

“Shireen will be heir to Storm’s End, but I will have her fostered at the Red Keep once my throne is secured. Until then, she will be welcomed at Winterfell after we take it back.”

“…It would be best for her,” Stannis murmured. “She wouldn’t even look at me…or her mother.

“She’s good and kind, my lord. I wish her happiness, and i’ll make sure she gets that.”

—

Sonaral had roused from her sleep, gracefully scaling Rhaenys’ bodice to perch on her shoulder. The hatching purred in her ear, as Rhaenys’ looked around the camp for Asha Greyjoy. She had her and Theon released from the Watchtower, though only Asha had a constant guard–Alysane. Rhaenys knew she would have had to confront Asha as queen someday; she just didn’t expect it to be so soon. 

She found her, Alysane, and Theon sat before a fire, roasting horse meat. Asha’s dark eyes held no fury for Rhaenys’ deception; she just seemed amused. “I allowed a vengeful bastard aboard my ship,” she remarked, looking up at her. “Next thing I know, she’s a vengeful dragon queen.”

“My desire for vengeance is no less.” Rhaenys said, sitting next to her. 

Asha smirked, eyeing the dragon babe as she spoke. “What have you called it?”

“Her name is Sonaral,” Rhaenys replied, as her hatchling started to chirp at the smell of roasting meat.

“She’ll be larger than a galley one day,” Asha mused. 

“That will take some time,” Alysane said, as she pulled a spit from the fire. Sonaral chirped and hissed. “Your dragon hungers, Your Grace,” she said.

Rhaenys took some of the meat and pulled it into smaller pieces before offering one to Sonaral. She eagerly took it in her jaws and swallowed it whole.

“Old Nan said, ‘only dragons and men ate cooked meat’,” Theon recalled, as the hatchling shrilled again for more. “Strange how her stories have been proven to be to true.”

Rhaenys smiled as she offered her dragon another piece of meat. “She’ll learn to roast her own one day.” She turned to Asha. The Greyjoy had invaded the North, seizing Deepwood Motte; yet, Rhaenys would consider forgiving such, depending on how their conversation went. “You bent the knee to me as the sun set. Did you truly mean it?” Balon Greyjoy declared himself King of the Iron Islands; did his daughter desire a crown as well?

Asha sighed heavily, as Theon looked upon her. “Had it not been for my father’s greed, I wouldn’t have spared a thought about the Seastone chair. I lost two brothers and my mother, more or less, because of his greed. Before he died, I told him it was a worthless cause that was reaching its end, but he cursed me and called me a craven.”

“The Pyke is yours.” Theon murmured. “It’s yours by right.”

“That may be so brother, but our uncle Euron has claimed the Pyke, the Seastone, the Iron Islands,” she spat. “I know he murdered our father, and promised to have me, and now you, killed as soon as my ship docked on _his_ islands.” Asha looked onto Rhaenys. “I know your grandfather was the Mad King, but my uncle could may as well claim that title.”

“I hear he’s also calling himself King in the North,” Rhaenys said darkly.

“King of the Isles and the North, but it’s all the same to him.” She looked unto her. “I _know_ you will have his throat cut for that.”

“More than just this throat.”

Asha smiled. “Like I said, we’re not that different.”

“Is that your decision?” Rhaenys asked.

“I saw you rise from that pyre alive, unburnt, and a dragon mother–I wouldn’t dare argue with that,” Asha remarked. “So long as you’re Queen of Westeros and I am Lady of The Pyke, then you shall have my steel and ships.”

—

Rhaenys didn’t have to worry about how she would confront Melisandre; the red priestess had been waiting for her near the tent. Rhaenys glared at her and Sonaral hissed.

“Ever since your dragon babe entered this world, my powers have waxed,” Melisandre said wearily. “Yet, I feel as though R’hllor has renounced me…”

“How many people have you fed to your fires?” Rhaenys demanded. “How many minds have you poisoned with your red smoke?”

Melisandre bowed her head. “Many…Your Grace. I had thought my god willed it and I was His loyal servant…”

“My grandfather Aerys used to send people to fires,” Rhaenys told her. “They called him mad for it. The Mad King Aerys.”

“Queen Rhaenys–”

“The roads are too dangerous for a lone woman to travel. Once Winterfell is returned to Sansa Stark, you will leave the North,” Rhaenys said. “And you will never return. Consider this the last of the mercy I even bothered to hold on to!”

The red woman was the least of her concerns.

—

Castle Cerwyn was only a day and a half’s ride from Crofters’, making it an ideal stronghold for Rhaenys to take a chance with. Lord Stannis had said that Lady Jonelle Cerwyn accepted Roose Bolton as Warden of the North, but very likely out of survival, to spare herself and the people of Cerwyn of his flaying knives.

The last Rhaenys had seen Lord Medger Cerwyn was when he laid dying at Harrenhal. He died the day before the castle was seized by the Frey; she watched as The Lord of Cerwyn was shrouded in a cloak of silk, decorated with the battle-axe of his house. His heir, Cley, had always been friendly with the Stark children; he was long dead, killed at Torrhen’s Square by Bolton’s forces. 

Rhaenys’ plan was to beseech Lady Jonelle personally; If the Lady of Cerwyn decided to aid them, then Rhaenys would send supplies to Crofters’ and have more men ride to Cerywn, to start planning their attack on Ramsay.

“What if she betrays you for the Boltons?” Theon asked, surely thinking of Walder Frey’s betrayal.

“You know the Cerwyns, Theon,” Sansa said. “They’ve visited us so often, and Lord Medger was always friend to Father.”

The morning after Sonaral’s birth, Rhaenys left Crofters’ village with thirty men, a mix of northern and Baratheon, along with Sansa and Asha. The Glover men were angry that Asha Greyjoy had been essentially freed, but Rhaenys swore to them that she would see punishment for seizing Deepwood.

A Velaryon man had constructed a cage of woven wood strips and horse hide for Sonaral. The dragon babe had yet to spit fire and was in no danger of burning its enclosure or anything around it. The cage was mounted to a horse, and kept close to Rhaenys. 

They traveled east along the White Knife, resting only if they had to.

—

The castle rose on the western shores of the White Knife. It was perhaps one of the smaller castles of the North; it had no true godswood, only a lone heart tree on a island in the river. Guarding the heavy wooden and stone gates were six Cerwyn guardsmen. “What brings you to Cerwyn?” One of them asked. Rather than a sword, he wielded a battle ax. 

“We’re here to see the Lady of Cerwyn,” Rhaenys said.

“What for?”

Sansa rode forward, her head held high. “My name is Sansa Stark. Tell your lady that my father was Ned Stark.”

—

Jonelle Cerwyn was thirty-four and unwed. She was a plump and homely woman, usually very even-tempered. She was waiting for them in Cerwyn’s Great Hall, which was less than half of the size of Winterfell’s. Hung on the wall behind her were two great banners of silver, with double bladed battle axes of black.

As soon as she saw Rhaenys and Sansa, her pale grey eyes widened.

“Lady Rhaenys!” She gasped. “Gods be good, you live!”

Rhaenys smiled at Lady Cerwyn, who then turned to Sansa. “And Lady Sansa…” She frowned. “Once Roose Bolton knows you’ve returned to the North…”

“In a way he already knows,” Sansa said grimly. “He knows a Stark has returned.”

“I heard Ramsay was to wed Arya, then she escaped…”

“Arya is still south, my lady, but we’ve more urgent matters to discuss.”

Lady Cerywn thought to make further inquiry, but abandoned it. “Aye, speak and I will listen.”

“We’ve come to Cerwyn for your aid,” Rhaenys spoke. “We mean to attack the Boltons and reclaim Winterfell.”

“You shall have it!” Lady Cerwyn declared. “Those damned and bloody Boltons, betrayed the Starks and now reap the rewards.”

Rhaenys and Sansa shared looks of relief.

“Aye, that bloody bastard and his bastard…told us to honor his wardenship, that the Starks were no true northernmen,” she spat. “I would have had my men take up arms to hack that turncloak to silvers . Yet, I feared the teeth of the bastard’s dogs and the edge of the traitor’s knives.”

She looked at Sansa with such remorse. “Forgive me, my lady. I allowed cowardice to make a mockery of my own northern blood.”

“I understand, Lady Cerywn,” Sansa opined. “You did what you had to, to survive.”

The Lady of Cerwyn sighed in relief. “Thank you, Lady Sansa.” She looked to Rhaenys. “Lady Rhaenys, does this mean you’ve come back to reclaim the North? Your noble lord-husband was King in the North–I would not object to your rule.”

“I’ve come back to reclaim Westeros, my lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the dragon is called Sonaral (SO-Narr-Rhal).  
> It is known.
> 
> I kinda hinted to the potential name of the potential dragon earlier in the fic so…yeah. Sorry if you were expecting a more (idk) personal name, but I thought of creating this "weird" juxtaposition/coincidence with the Stark words (Winter is Coming, except "winter" is a dragon).
> 
> Rhaenys and Asha are gonna kick so much ass  
> this is exciting


	44. the lone wolf dies (but the pack survives)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The North remembers; as do the wolves.

Rhaenys was writing a letter, the words very likely the first of its kind. How would she tell her uncle Doran of her survival, of her crown, of her vengeance, of her dragon babe? She sighed, frowning at her choice of words, the most as she was willing put to parchment. This was the first time she has seen her grief and heartache in ink: _I survived the slaughter, yet my dearest wolf did not…_

After nearly snapping the quill in her grip, Rhaenys placed it upon the table, waiting for the ink to dry. Sonaral had fallen asleep on the table, her wings tucked under her head. Rhaenys gazed at her, thinking how neither of them should have been there.

Not bothering to scrutinize the letter for her uncle again, she folded it and sealed it with the Cerywn’s black battle ax. She would take it to the rookery before her return to their command room. 

After Lady Cerywn sent supplies to Crofters’, she pledged men for the retaking of Winterfell. Rhaenys was glad for this, but her fears of being outmanned and outsworded would not relent. Lord Stannis would bring more men from Crofters’ upon his own arrival to Castle Cerywn-- but still she worried.

After hearing of these concerns, Sansa wrote a letter, meant for Petyr Baelish.

_“Sansa, you can’t trust that man!” Rhaenys exclaimed. “Not after he sold you to Ramsay!”_

_“He’s Lord of the Vale,” Sansa replied, her voice seemingly calm “The Knights of the Vale are under his command. As strange as it sounds, if I call for his aid, he will come.”_

Sonaral woke up suddenly, as though from a dream. She blinked her ice-blue eyes and squealed. _What do dragons dream of?_

“ _Rytsas_ ,” Rhaenys greeted. She had been speaking to the dragon in both Common Tongue and Valyrian. Sonaral shrilled, jumping from the table to her shoulder in a graceful leap.

It was strange to speak Valyrian so often now. Only Arya took to it well enough to carry on lessons with Maester Luwin, but Rhaenys was the first and only at Winterfell to perfectly master it. Luwin was impressed with her progress (though not at all surprised); he gave her a very worn leather book of poems and writings, carefully copied from greater volumes he read at the Citadel.

_“Your mother tongue, Princess,” Luwin had said, as he handed her the book. “Once said to be the only language worthy of poems, songs, and prayers.”_

It still was, as Rhaenys discovered. Its sound was of one of tumbling water, quick to become a tempest…

_**"Neither ice or fire will hold the van-- the world shall end in their lover’s embrace,”** Rhaenys read. The verse was attested to have been penned by Elaena Targaryen, daughter of Daenys The Dreamer. She furrowed her brow and repeated the line in Common Tongue to Robb, who had rested his head upon her lap and gazed up at her, winding the end of one of her loose ringlets around his finger. “The world’s end sounds pretty when you say it,” Robb mused._

_Rhaenys smile coyly, stroking his auburn curls. “So if the world’s end came on Valyrian tongue, your only thought would be how pretty it sounds?”_

_He looked at her mischievously. “Only your tongue, Princess.”_

_Rhaenys raised her eyebrow, a slight smile on her amused face._ “Ñuhor līr gūrēnna rūso vūji,” _she said, closing the book gently. Robb furrowed his brow slightly. “Another doom?”_

_“Perhaps,” Rhaenys replied, leaning forward, so that her face was a breath away from his. “ ‘I will take what is mine with his kiss’.”_

_Robb smiled, caressing her cheek. “If you are fated to be my ruin, then by all means…”_

Were queens ever meant to be happy? Rhaenys couldn’t think of a single one who truly was.

Sonaral’s eyes were lidded, as though sleepy once more. Rhaenys smiled; this was a baby for truth. She gathered the dragon in the palm of her hand, setting her back in the cage. Leaving Sonaral to her sleep, she left the solar with her letter.

\---

Rhaenys could hear the trample of horse hooves even from the rookery. She sent the raven on its long way, and briskly walked down to the courtyard. It had started to snow again, albeit lighter than the flurries of the past days.

“It’s about time,” Asha muttered, as Rhaenys went to stand with her. “They were meant to be here before midday.”

“So long as they’re here,” Rhaenys said to her, as men and banners streamed into the yard. Lord Stannis fronted the retinue, his wife and daughter close behind. By the sight of it, he brought nearly half of the men from Crofters’. New banners had joined the familiar ones: the green-and-black lizard-lions of House Reed. Rhaenys furrowed her brow; when did the crannogmen join Stannis? Just as curiously, many more Mormont banners had joined the host; more than there were at Crofters’.

Then Rhaenys saw the tangle of dark hair, and his long solemn face.

Jon.

She gasped soundlessly, looking upon her bastard good-brother in astonishment. Ghost ran beside him, a massive shadow of pure white. When Jon’s eyes found her, the stern face softened. As soon as he halted his horse, he leapt from the saddle and ran to her; Rhaenys threw her arms around his neck, her cheek already wet with tears. “Stannis told me you were alive,” Jon breathed, holding her close.“I would have killed him for being a liar.” He pulled away to look upon her face. “Oh, Rhaenys... I should have never left you and Robb,” he said. “I’m sorry...”

“They would have killed you too,” Rhaenys replied, her voice heavy from tears and heartache. 

Jon’s eyes strayed from hers as Sansa walked into the yard; she stopped abruptly, her blue eyes widening at the sight of her half-brother. Rhaenys edged away, as Sansa ran to him. The two gripped each other, as Rhaenys and every person in the courtyard watched. The gods had their just moments after all.

“Come here, you,” Jon murmured to Rhaenys, pulling her back into the embrace.

\---

Sonaral hissed and Jon flinched, drawing his hand away. Rhaenys laughed, coaxing a smile from him. She spoke softly to her dragon babe, who only shrilled in return.

“When I arrived to Crofters’, I was greeted with tales both wonderful and outrageous,” Jon said, watching the dragon blink at him. They sat along the shores of the White Knife, the heart tree a few steps away, had it not been for the waters. Rhaenys stroked Ghost’s neck, glad for the sight of a direwolf once more. “She’s not the baby you had expected.”

“Aye, that’s for certain,” Jon said sadly. “I had just only found Greywater when Lady Reed spoke of what happened at the Twins,”

“...Did you ever speak with Howland Reed?”

Jon shook his head. “His lady said he had long left to bleed ironborn along the river. His two children had left for Winterfell, to pledge their house to Robb’s crown.”

“All the children were sent away to the Dreadfort,” Rhaenys told him. “And gods know where Bran and Rickon are.”

Jon’s brows furrowed. “I know they’re still alive, but can we really trust Theon again? He still betrayed Robb and killed many people at Winterfell.”

“Ramsay has done such terrible things to him,” she said. “I forgave him because…he was all I had left…”

“It’s what Robb would have done,” Jon murmured. “He would have never gone ahead with taking Theon’s head, not if he saw what became of him. He knew mercy when it was due.”

Sonaral screeched, leaping from Rhaenys’ arm to Ghost’s back. The direwolf paid the little dragon no heed.

Rhaenys breathed deeply, and Jon placed his arm around her shoulder. “Stannis Baratheon told me it wasn’t only your unburnt skin or the little dragon you held that made his surrender so quick,” he said. “It was the iron of your voice and the heart of your words. ‘Twain that with her true name, then she may be the queen we’ve yet to be worthy of’.” 

Rhaenys furrowed her brow. “Stannis said that?”

“I was surprised myself,” Jon said, his smile sad. “Yet, I was there when Robb declared you the true queen, and you won the northerners’ hearts and mind with such ease. Stannis’ words were nothing new to me.”

\---

Lady Cerwyn had received a letter from Roose Bolton, for her send men to Winterfell to aid his son against the ‘false king’. She burned it.

“That’s it, then.” Lady Lyanna Mormont said, as they watched the note burn in the command room’s hearth. “My lady, you failed to answer to the Warden-- he will strike your castle quickly.”

She was a girl of twelve, but already more competent and shrewd that any one would have guessed. The Lady of Bear Island had left with Jon to see her men to Stannis Baratheon’s cause. Of course, when she and Jon arrived at Crofters’, they found no king; just the Lord of Storm’s End, raising his banners for Rhaenys Targaryen.

“We need to march on Winterfell soon,” Rhaenys decided. “Before the snows return or Ramsay gathers more men.”

Sansa seemed uncertain. “What of the Knights of the Vale? With their numbers, the Boltons will be outnumbered.”

“Even with most of the northern houses siding with the Boltons, our numbers should be capable.” Jon said. “If battle were to happen on this evening, then we would be ready.”

“Don’t cross it, Snow.” Asha muttered. Theon stood beside her, his brow furrowed.

Rhaenys stared at the worn map. The plan was to attack Ramsay from two sides. As they were fully supplied, the men at Crofters’ withdrew deeper into the wolfswood, to let Ramsay believe that they had retreated. Stannis and Mors Umber would lead those men across the White Knife, their arrival slightly delayed, as Jon led men north of Cerwyn to bait the wild and reckless Ramsay into a double envelopment. “We can’t wait for the Knights,” She glanced at Sansa. “I’m sorry, Sansa. We can only hope they arrive north in three days time."

Sansa sighed, though she seemed displeased. “Very well, Rhaenys.”

Mors Umbers shook his head in disgust, his good eyes glaring the number of northern houses that raised their banners for Bolton. “You ought to hang ‘em all for oathbreakers, Your Grace. The Starks have held the North for more years than they can count!”

“Most of them accept Roose Bolton out of fear,” Lady Cerywn said. “As I have done.”

“Most, not all,” Rhaenys reminded them all. “The rest will answer to Sansa, to explain why they decided to forsake her father’s name for her brother’s and mother’s murderer.”

Lyanna looked to her in approval, and Rhaenys was relieved. Winning over the Lady of Bear Island hadn’t been easy, even with Alysane’s support. “It should be without saying, but Roose Bolton is your man to judge.”

“He’s mine to kill, Lady Lyanna,” she replied, not bothering to veil her vicious intent. “He will know no mercy from me, not after I begged him for my husband’s life.”

The men and women in the room nodded and murmured in agreement; Rhaenys’ vengeance was hers and rightous. Lady Cerwyn sighed. “I remember your wedding day, how Lord Robb looked upon you, and you upon him. Your septon said ‘cursed be the one who comes between them’, and there has never been truer words.”

Rhaenys bowed her head to acknowledge her words, and to hide her pervasive grief. The counsel was dismissed for the evening, leaving only her, Jon, and Sansa in the room. Rhaenys slumped into a chair, pressing her fingertips to her temple.

“So we’re all that’s left then?” Sansa asked, her face worn, her voice jaded. “The daughter of a Stark, the widow of a Stark, and the bastard of a Stark.”

“If you put it that way…” Rhaenys replied, reaching for her goblet.

"Arya, Bran, and Rickon are still out there," Jon said. "We can't ever forget about them."

"We can't allow the rest of the realm to forget what they did to us!" Sansa declared. "What they did to our family…"

"The North remembers," Rhaenys remarked, looking onto her with sad brown eyes. "And the wolves never forget. Or forgive."

\---

Rhaenys sat on the stone ground before the hearth, placing a small chunk of raw meat in front of Sonaral. The dragon sniffed at it and looked at her expectantly. She was barely four days old, yet Rhaenys had already seen the wisps of smoke from her mouth.

“ _Dracarys_ ,” Rhaenys said, flicking another piece of meat to the embers of the fire. Sonaral clambered to it at once, snatching the blackened chunk in her jaws. At once, she looked to the raw piece in front of her and tilted her head.

“ _Dracarys,_ ” Rhaenys repeated, smiling in encouragement. There were many words for fire in Valyrian; but ‘dracarys’ meant ‘dragon fire’ and Rhaenys liked it the most. Sonaral opened her jaws, but only smoke came. She hissed, then breathed a tiny stream of fire. Purring, she took the meat into her jaws, striking it like a viper.

“Well done!” Rhaenys laughed, as Sonaral flapped her wings in excitement.

Someone tapped at the door, causing the dragon to squeal. “It’s alright, Sonaral,” Rhaenys soothed, before telling whoever it was to enter. Sansa walked in, a black dress folded over her arm. “Have I disturbed you?” She asked, looking onto Sonaral.

“Of course not,” Rhaenys replied, as her dragon crawled up her arm and to her shoulder. She rose from the ground, smiling kindly at her good-sister.

Sansa glanced down at the dress draped upon her arm, and smiled. “I made this for you.”

It was a high-collared black dress of velvet, the bodice embroidered splendidly with a red thrice-headed dragon. The sleeves were close-fitted and inlain with red patterns that twisted down to the wrists like a dragon’s tail.

“You’ll always be my sister,” Sansa said. “But it’s your maiden’s cloak that they fear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I start school tomorrow, so moment of silence for me because this week is going to be hell. 
> 
> I make no claims of actually knowing valyrian. What you saw was an attempt. I don't know how accurate it is; I just pierced words together and made educated inferences. And i went with 'dracarys' because i have no idea what else to do. For the life of me, i couldn't find the valyrian word for "burn", which would have been epic.
> 
> I also make no claims of being a master at battleplans. So i went with the "battle of the bastards" plan. Since more houses are involved, we shouldn't have a problem.


	45. queen of sorrow/lady of vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle takes place, for Winterfell and for vengeance.

Rhaenys narrowed her eyes at the bright grey dawn. In the distant and foggy horizon rose Winterfell, seemingly still as it always was. Sonaral purred as another horse and rider joined them. Jon halted his destrier at her side, gazing at their stolen home.

“A raven just came–Ramsay wants to parley,” he said, glancing over at her. Rhaenys returned Jon’s grim look. 

“Who was the message meant for?”

“ ‘The false king, Stannis Baratheon’.”

Rhaenys sighed, sincerely relieved. Stannis Baratheon and Mors Umber had returned to the wolfswood days ago, to lead the attack from the White Knife; Ramsay still hadn’t any idea. 

“We’ll humor him,” she told him. 

“Rhae… Roose Bolton will surely accompany his son.”

“I hope so. I want him to see me, alive and a queen.” Before Jon could object, she turned around her horse and cantered back to their encampment. 

She swept her eyes along the camp and men, taking in the familiar sights and sounds of a battle’s eve. Theon was in the midst, testing a bow with trembling hands. He had begged Rhaenys to let him join the armies, begging for the chance to die with a bow in his hand as Theon Greyjoy, rather than in the cold shadows as Reek. 

Sansa was waiting for Rhaenys, her face stern. She was wearing a new dress; dark blue velvet with a direwolf embroidery. “We shouldn’t waste hope on Ramsay,” she said. “He’s broken terms before, one after another.”

“Whatever terms he pretends to claim, it would never be enough,” Rhaenys replied. 

—

Spurring to see to Ramsay’s parley were Rhaenys, Jon, Sansa, Lyanna Mormont, and a few bannermen. They were to meet with him before the meadows of Winterfell. As they waited for Ramsay and his men, Rhaenys watched the flayed man banners that flew mockingly from the towers. As the Boltons finally came into sight, she gripped her reins. Jon was watching her and Sansa, his expression one of worry.

Ramsay spurred ahead of his father, as though childishly eager to begin his taunts. However, his eyes saw no yellow banners; only the grey-and-white of House Stark.“What is this?” He demanded, slowing his dark red horse before them. His pale eyes landed on the bastard girl he knew as Elly Waters.

“This is your parley, Lord Ramsay–as you desired.” Rhaenys replied. Draped along her shoulder was Sonaral, who started to hiss.

When Roose Bolton reached them at last, the cold indifference he always held was twisted into an unfamiliar fright. 

“Lord Bolton,” Rhaenys greeted venomously.

He pressed his thin lips together, his usual stillness fleeing at the sight of her. His pale eyes missed no detail of her, the life in her eyes, the dragon on her shoulder, the dragon on her dress…

“I killed you,” he said, the slightest of dismay in his soft voice. “I killed you. I drove a dagger through your heart!” Back in Winterfell, it was said that the leeches he loved so much had long supped on his feelings– love, hate and everything in between. It left him forbidding and without fear. Now, Rhaenys knew that wasn’t true, for she saw true fear in his eyes.

“You may as well had, after you plunged your blade through Robb’s.” She looked upon him, her dark eyes lidded like a dragon’s. “Your words, Lord Bolton– i’m hard to kill.”

Ramsay watched them in hushed fascination, his smile one of amusement. “Rhaenys Targaryen,” he said softly, looking over to his seething father. “The gods certainly have their japes, don’t they Father?”

“Enough of this!” Lord Bolton spat. “Where is Stannis Baratheon?!”

“Disposed, my lord,” Rhaenys replied. “You’re speaking to the rightful Queen of Westeros.” 

Ramsay laughed. “Oh, this is fun.” He smiled at Sansa. “But we’ve other matters to discuss.”

“Don’t waste your breath, Lord Ramsay.”

“I only want whats mine,” he said, still looking upon Sansa. “I could do with the company, Lady Stark. My bed has been cold.”

“As will be your grave.” Jon spoke.

Ramsay shifted his wild gaze to him, glancing at Ghost. “You must be the bastard of Winterfell i’ve heard so much about.”

“There’s no need for a battle,” Jon said. “Thousands of men don’t need to die. Only one of us. Let’s end this the old way– you against me.”

Ramsay’s smile faltered. Perhaps he had heard of Jon’s skill with a sword, long proven throughout the war. “I’ve no need to waste my steel on yours, Jon Snow. My numbers are far greater, and i’ve no use for your traitorous men after you’re dead.” 

“Your armies, Lord Ramsay, know who the true Lord of Winterfell is. Who the true Warden of the North is. They deserve better than to follow a craven into his battle.”

“When our clash is done with, then they shall see who the better man is!” Ramsay spat. “If you think you’re all fated for a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention!” 

He looked upon Rhaenys, jeeringly. “You would know, my lady! From the moment the Kingslayer saved your life, you were never meant for a happy ending.”

“I wouldn’t ever,” she agreed. “Not after your father took him away from me!” Rhaenys looked upon Lord Bolton with such rancor, the famed dark gaze of Oberyn Martell would have never compared to hers. “I _begged_ you for Robb’s life, Lord Bolton! As his child bled from me, I begged!”

“Robb Stark was a fool!” Roose Bolton declared. “A weak, besotted, callow fool!”

“ _DON’T YOU DARE!_ ” Rhaenys shrieked, her dragon along with her. “Stand before his brother and sister, before Winterfell, before me, and call him a fool!”

Ramsay quietly laughed to himself. “A grieving widow–that’s who you’ve chosen to rule over you?”

“You should be afraid, my lord,” Sansa spoke at last; her blue eyes were flints of ice.

“Afraid?! Afraid of what, my dear lady? The lizard on her shoulder?”

“Lord Ramsay, only a fool would dare scorn a living dragon, ” Jon remarked. “Espically when there are two right before him.”

But Ramsay chuckled, reaching into his cloak. “You speak of fools, Jon Snow…” Jon went for his hilt, but the Bolton only held out a cloth pouch; he threw it at him. “But you’re very much one of them.” 

With a furrowed brow, Jon opened it, his already grim expression darkening. “What is this?” He demanded.

“Your little brother.” Ramsay crooked his head at Rhaenys. “Don’t be greedy, Snow.”

Rhaenys held out her hand, dread digging into her heart, and Jon reluctantly gave it to her. Inside the pouch was a lock of auburn hair; along with the small finger of a child.

“Bend the knee, Targaryen,” Ramsay said. “Return my bride to me. You’ll have little Rickon back without a spare thought.”

But it was Sansa who spoke first. “You’re going to die tomorrow, my lords,” she said. “Sleep well.” At once, she kicked her horse to a canter and rode away from them. Ramsay watched her, a wicked look in his eyes.

“What does the great queen have to say?” He asked, returning his gaze to Rhaenys.

“I believe Lady Stark had said it well enough.”

"You’ll let your husband’s little brother die because of your folly? Seems fitting, seeing how he died because of you–”

“Thats enough, Bolton!” Jon spat.

“Doing your brotherly duty, bastard?” Ramsay chuckled. “You can’t protect them, not while my dogs are feasting upon your flesh, and that of your mongrel.” He turned to his father. “We’re done here.” Ramsay spurred his horse back to Winterfell. His bannermen followed, but Lord Bolton remained behind.

“I don’t know what dark magic you’ve done,” he said to Rhaenys. “Or how that beast came to your neck. I know that once Ramsay’s battle is won, i’ll have you both taken to the Dreadfort, and I will personally see to your indisputable deaths.”

She stared at him, dark and unyielding. “Or perhaps I will see to yours.”

Sonaral shrilled as Lord Bolton spurred away. 

—

Rhaenys stared up into the night’s sky, wishing for even a glimpse of Nymeria’s star and her ten thousand ships. But the night fell dark and heavy; no stars could have been seen that night. Sansa had retired early, though Rhaenys was sure she was laying awake, wondering what tomorrow would bring. 

Deciding that her search for the star was in vain, Rhaenys returned her weary gaze to the lantern’s light. Many men took to what little rest they would get; others sat around whetting their swords and speaking softly.

Had only one year passed since the Whispering Woods? It seemed like a different life, where Rhaenys was seeing Robb spur away to battle and wondering if that would have been her last sight of him alive. He told her to watch for him, and she did.

Her watch for him had long ended.

In the midst of her gloom, Jon approached her. “Everything’s in fair order,” he said, sitting next to her. “We need only pray that Stannis and Mors don’t lie in.” He looked around. “Where’s the little dragon?”

“Asleep,” Rhaenys replied. 

“Perhaps you should consider the same.”

She shook her head, staring at the lantern’s flickering light. Jon didn’t bother to insist. “Rhae, can I ask you something?”

“Might as well.” _We could all by dead by tomorrow._

“I want to know…why was Roose Bolton so certain he killed you?”

She shifted her gaze from the light and upon his drawn face. “What?”

“He said he drove a dagger through your…heart. That doesn’t usually go amiss…”

Rhaenys tightly pressed her lips together as Jon awaited an answer. She sighed, glancing around before speaking softy. “He spoke the truth.”

His brow furrowed, but Rhaenys continued to speak. “I felt the steel pierce my skin and the world became cold and black and red. I woke up in a cave three days later, where a red priest from Myr said he brought me back from death.” She looked at Jon’s bewildered face and sighed; she didn’t expect his reaction to be anything less.

“A red priest? Like Melisandre?”

“I suppose,” she decided. “He came to Riverrun while you were still in the westerlands. Claimed he saw ‘my great fate’ in his fires and returned me to this world because of that.”

“…I’ll have to find this man one day and thank him.”

Rhaenys raised her eyebrow. She didn’t expect him to be so quick to accept such a seemingly wild account. “You believe me?” 

“Rhae, did you not survive being burned, with a dragon to show for it?” Jon asked. “Perhaps the world is much stranger than we thought it to be. If a red god brought you back to us, then so be it.”

She supposed Jon wanted to speak more of the red priest, but he thankfully left her be. They sat in silence, as a wolf’s howl echoed. Ghost flicked his ears towards the sound, unable to join in the song. 

Rhaenys sighed. She felt numb and tired. When she wasn’t trying to forge herself into a true queen, she was awake in her bed crying. She cried for Elia, for Aegon, for Ned, for Catelyn, for Arya, for Bran, for Rickon. She even cried for Rhaegar, who she hadn’t wasted tears on in such a long time. She still cried for Jon and Sansa, fearful of losing them again. She cried for Winterfell, for Sunspear, for the life she once knew. She cried for the sky-eyed and night-haired children she would never know.

And she cried for Robb. Needless to say, she cried for him.

 _I don’t know where my skin begins and where my grief ends_ , Rhaenys thought. _All I know is a hollow heart and bitter longings._

—

Along the meadows before Winterfell were great X-shaped crosses, all set afire. By the dark of the smoke, corpses burned as well. Atop her horse, Rhaeny looked on darkly at the thousands of men, while Jon stood close by. She turned her horse around, to look upon the men and women, their banners flying high. 

"I’ve only ever known one king,” she said. “And his name was Stark. Queen I may be, but fight for that king. Fight in my king’s name! Fight for the wolves that raised me, and guarded us all! Fight for your North!” 

They started roar, the sound echoing through the ranks. Rhaenys breathed deeply, turning her head to look upon Ramsay’s hosts once more. She could easily see his blood-red stallion.

“You heard your queen!” Jon said, mounting his destrier. “What will you do?”

“FOR THE NORTH!” Alysane Mormont bellowed, kicking her horse to a canter. More followed, weaving around Rhaenys and Jon as they went, their banners streaming behind them. Rhaenys gave her good-brother one last look. Her words would have surely been lost in the clamor, but she didn’t have to say them; her dark forlorn eyes said it all. Jon bowed his head, reaching to gently squeeze her hand, before spurring his horse to join his men. Ghost’s jaws were opened in a soundless snarl as he ran after Jon.

Rhaenys watched as the Bolton and Karstark men began their charge; the blood-red stallion was nowhere to be found. _Coward_ she thought. She was about to spur back into the wolfswood, to where Lyanna, Sansa, and Sonaral were waiting–until she finally spotted the red horse. Ramsay had gone atop one of the hills, making no attempts to join the battle he wanted so dearly. Rhaenys narrowed her eyes; he had a child with him, one with auburn hair…

It was a trap. It had to be. But that did nothing to stop Rhaenys from kicking her horse to a canter. She spurred the horse until his skin was surely bruised, goading him along the wolfswood. Ramsay’s mount had broken into a trot, moving further south, away from the clash, and luring her away from any kind of safety. Such was but an afterthought, as the lands became a blur of green and grey.

Then the earth fell away, at the edge of a pit. Rhaenys was thrown from the horse, and she landed on her flank. Ringing filled her ears and everything seemed so faraway. Someone had been screaming her name. Someone else was laughing. Further in the distance, the sound of steel meeting and men screaming was as faint as bird song.

Rhaenys gritted her teeth to stave off the pain, clutching at the snow and dirt as she hauled herself to stand. The ground and sky met at a tilt, and everything felt airy. Blood trickled down her temple and from her bitten lip. She saw the body of her horse, his neck broken from the fall. Rhaenys spat out a mouth full of blood as she hauled herself out of the shallow grave.

“Your Grace,” the man greeted mockingly. At his side was a sobbing child. 

“You go to hell!” Rhaenys spat, as she collapsed onto her knees.

Ramsay Bolton chucked. “You poor thing.” 

Rhaenys looked over to Rickon, who was looking at her in fear. He was close to seven years now, his auburn hair shaggy and matted. Rhaenys could still remember the castle bells that had rang for him on the day of his birth. “Let him go, Ramsay!” She demanded. “You have me now. Let him go!” 

The Bolton ran his fingers through Rickon’s hair, a wicked smile on his face. “Not ready to watch another Stark die?” He glanced down at Rickon. “Your brother died because of her, do you understand that?”

“Stop it!” Rhaenys hissed. 

“You must grow tired of begging for a Stark’s life,” he continued. “Pity you weren’t there when your grandfather murdered Rickard and Brandon, or when your father raped and killed Lyanna. It wouldn’t have made any difference, but there’s no harm in trying.” Ramsay mussed Rickon’s hair. “We Boltons prefer to flay those who wrong us, not fuck them.”

“You also prefer to betray and murder those you’re sworn to!” 

“Why should we true northernmen kneel and pander to weak men?!” Ramsay spat. “And _you_ – you’re a widow, an orphan, a queen of nothing. You’re nothing!”

“It’s more than you are!” she retorted. “A bastard made true by another bastard!”

Ramsay moved his hand to Rickon’s throat. “You’ve a lot of mettle, for a woman who somehow _still_ has more to lose.”

“Let Rickon go!”

“Oh…alright.” Ramsay pushed him aside and strode over to her. He smiled cruelly, before wrenching her from the ground and gripping her to him. “Perhaps, _Lady Stark_ ,” he breathed into her ear. “You can do so kindly and tell me where my bride is.”

Rhaenys turned her head and spat a mouth full of blood in his terrible face. “Rickon, run!” She begged, but the boy was too terrified to even move.

Ramsay laughed. “Father wants another chance at killing you, but i’m sure I can do better…”

A black fury took her, and Rhaenys struggled in his grip until they fell into the pit. She landed on him and at once, struck his face with her fist. Ramsay grinned, his nose broken and bleeding, and caught her wrist. He pulled her to the ground beside him, and moved so that she was pinned under him. “Now, let’s have a look at Robb Stark’s wife–”

“Get away from her, Ramsay!” Ramsay’s wicked face fell, as he looked up. Theon stood before them, a nocked arrow in his bow, pointed at the Bolton’s head. 

“Reek!” Ramsay exclaimed, as Rhaenys struggled to throw him off of her. “I’ve missed you!”

“My name is Theon.”

Ramsay sighed, tightening his grasp around Rhaenys’ wrists, while his other hand moved to her bodice. “Come now, Reek–” 

“No.” Theon tautened his bowstring; his hands were as steady as they used to be. Ramsay looked upon him incredulously, as Theon continued to speak. “I won’t let you hurt her.” 

The Bolton laughed. “You’re _Reek_ , do you understand that?! You’re Reek and you’re mine.” He held his head high and proudly. “Dare I say, that i’m the only friend you have?”

“Don’t dare, my lord.” Theon released the arrow and it flew into Ramsay’s neck.

Blood splattered on Rhaenys’ face, and Ramsay fell onto his back. She sat up and watched as he whimpered; blood was gushing from his wound and mouth- he wasn't smiling anymore. Theon nocked another arrow for the killing shot, but Rhaenys stopped him. “Wait!”

She crouched besides Ramsay, numb with ire as her hands fumbled at the sheath on his belt. He was a Bolton–of course, he had a flaying knife with him. It was long and hooked, its wooden hilt stained blood-red.

“Rickon, go into the wolfswood and wait for us there!” Rhaenys said, holding Ramsay’s wild gaze as he convulsed and bled. Once the sounds of small boots steps had gone, she held the point of the knife between Ramsay’s eyes. Her blood was burning. “A Frey stuck my face once–- do you want to know what happened to him?” She asked, pulling the arrow from his neck. More blood gushed from the wound and the Bolton groaned in anguish as he started to bleed out. “Robb’s direwolf had ripped that very hand from his wrist.” 

—

Theon helped Rhaenys and Rickon onto his horse and took it by the reins to lead them back to the camp. In the distance, Rhaenys could see the flutter of gold and black banners. She sighed in relief; Stannis’ and Mors’ men had long arrived to spring the trap.

“Thank you, Theon,” she murmured. He looked up at her, the hollow his dark eyes seemingly gone; perhaps it had fled at the sight of Ramsay’s mutilated corpse. 

“You didn’t return to the camp,” he replied. “And I knew Ramsay had his wiles.”

Suddenly, a warhorn sounded. Rhaenys turned around to see the new banners stream in; sky-blue and white. “The Knights of the Vale,” Theon said. All three watched in wonder as thousands of men cantered to the battlefield, which was strewn with dead men and horses. The battle would soon become a rout, with Ramsay dead and his men finally outnumbered.

As they walked along, Rhaenys looked through the trees and scoured the meadow, for Ghost, for Alysane, for Asha, for Jon…

Instead, she spotted the familiar dark grey armor and spotted cloak. 

“Theon, take Rickon back to the camp,” she said, looking onto him wildly. Rickon already started to protest, clinging to her as Theon tried to take him from the saddle. 

“I’ll return, Rickon!” Rhaenys promised, sweeping his shaggy hair behind his ear. 

The boy only wept as he looked onto her. “But you didn’t!” He wailed. “No one ever did!”

Rhaenys’ heart broke once again, as Theon finally lifted him down. “I know, Rickon,” she murmured. “I know. I’m sorry…”

Without another word, she spurred the horse.

— 

By the time Rhaenys reached them, Jon had knocked Roose Bolton to the ground, and started to beat him in a murderous rage. She slid off the saddle, watching with other Stark men. Around them, Bolton men were being decimated. Rhaenys watched as Jon battered the Bolton; she had never seen him so enraged. 

Somewhere in between that rage, Jon looked up and saw her. His face was covered in blood and mud; he furrowed his brow at the sight of the blood splattered upon her own face. His bloodied fist respited, as the two looked upon one another. Finally, he abandoned his assault and rose from the ground.

“What’s the matter, Snow?” Lord Bolton rasped, as blood dripped from his wounds and onto the ground. 

“It’s my good-sister’s turn.” Jon replied.

Rhaenys slowly walked over to them, looking down at Roose Bolton in contempt. She gripped Ramsay’s knife in her trembling hand. “Get him up,” she said to anyone who would listen. It was Stannis Baratheon who emerged from the ranks to wrench Lord Bolton to his feet. 

Lord Bolton stood, weakly shoving Lord Stannis from him. “I can stand for your damned queen.” He glared at Rhaenys, his milk-pale eyes eerie against his bloodied face. “There is no man or god that knows what to do with you.”

Rhaenys didn’t say anything, only staring into his eyes; the last sight Robb saw before he died. “Ramsay is dead,” she remarked, watching for his reaction.

Lord Bolton coughed up a mouth full of blood; his face held no remorse or grief for his dead son.“By your hand, I suppose.”

“Theon Greyjoy had the pleasure. I helped a bit.”

“Slaughter? Is this the queen’s justice?” 

“If you wanted justice so dearly, you should have thought about that before you murdered my husband,” Rhaenys said quietly, skimming her thumb along the knife’s hilt. 

“Look at you–loyal to that cur until your proper final day.”

“It’s more than you can say, Lord Bolton,” Sansa said suddenly. The gathered men parted to let her through. Her blue eyes were cold, as she looked upon him. “But your treachery will no longer matter because your house will disappear. Your words will disappear. Your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear.”

Lord Bolton laughed, but it quickly turned into another cough. “It would seem that Rhaenys Targaryen and I share the same fate, Lady Stark.” He stared at Rhaenys. “The last Targaryen– the last of her name.”

“I only care for one name, Lord Bolton,” Rhaenys said, grief and rage overcoming her. “And his name was Robb Stark.”

Lord Bolton was still clad in armor and mail; so she plunged the steel into his exposed throat.

Rhaenys pulled the knife out, his blood mottling her face, and watched his pale eyes widen like a waxing moon. Lord Bolton fell onto his knees; his agony and dying breath came in garbled whimpers as blood poured from the wound and down his dark armor. 

After Roose Bolton fell dead before her at last, Rhaenys allowed the knife to fall from her blood slicked hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gone are the days of frequent updating. 
> 
> Hope you like this chapter; i actually ended up rewriting it because i wasn't happy with it.


	46. her heart's desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is a vicious game, my queen. You’ve not always the mercy of choice, if you want to make it out of this game alive.”

Sansa was in her father’s high seat. Rickon sat at her right, gazing at Sonaral in wonder. The dragon blinked her ice-blue eyes, purring in Rhaenys’ ear. Jon and Rhaenys were also sitting pensively at the raised table as the Great Hall was once again filled with people, northerners and southerners.

Only after the flayed man banners were thrown into a heap and burned, after the corpses were gathered and buried (as for the Boltons’, they were left to the mercy of Ramsay’s loyal and starving dogs), after the prisoners were locked away in the dungeons, and after the Stark banners were unfurled, did they convene to discuss the coming times.

Rhaenys looked upon them, watching as they watched her. Many had seen her run Roose Bolton’s throat through with his son’s knife, blood mottled upon her merciless face. ‘Lady Vengeance’ some had called her-- a queen avenging her slain king. ‘Queen of Sorrows’ was another hushed title-- a widow mourning her beloved.

She didn’t care what they called her; especially not when arguments had started breaking out among them.

The North was still not yet free. The boy on the Iron Throne would send his men to reclaim the North. The Lannisters still reigned, in crown and treachery. _Who were they to trust_ , the men demanded. Many had started to question Rhaenys’ decision to trust the Greyjoys, even after their ruin. Questions and accusations made by the weary and the anxious-- they were all but lost on Rhaenys, who still felt the warm blood of the Boltons upon her drawn face. Yet, this was not the place to be anything less than brave and willful.

“The war is not over, and winter is still coming,” Sansa spoke. “Yet, you still question the loyalties of the man next to you, even after you both felled the same enemy!”

Some grunted, other shook their head. Rhaenys’ weary heart fluttered nervously. She knew these men and women have lived enough uncertain days and nights; promises did nothing but worn them.

“My father used to say that we find our true friends on the battlefield,” Jon said. “Here you all are, brought together by the queen before you.”

“Now you expect us to ride south and rekindle that war?” a Forrester lord remarked. 

“We have no choice,” Rhaenys replied. “So long as a Lannister is king, he will do everything he can to retake Winterfell from the Starks.” 

“You think you can do better?” Lord Hugo Wull demanded. “Too many good men bled during that clash of kings-- a woman like you will surely seep red.”

“And where were _you_ during that clash, Lord Wull?!” Mors Umber spat. “Watching from a chamberpot atop your mountain?! I held my nephew’s castle while he rallied our great house for Robb Stark. Gods know if he's rotting in the shadows of the Twins!”

Then it was Lyanna Mormont who spoke, harshly and truly, above the clamor of men. “We sit here in the Great Hall of House Stark--how many of you had refused their call in their hour of greatest need?!”

Her sister Alysane looked on proudly, as Lyanna stood up to look upon the lords with a enraged expression. “Will you continue to refuse their call?!”

Some looked bemused as the young girl spoke; others clenched their fists or bowed their heads in guilt.

“House Mormont remembers! The North remembers!” Alysane said, looking to Rhaenys. “We called her Queen in the North once! Not even death would allow her to forsake us!”

“She avenged the Red Wedding,” Mors spoke. “It would be an insult to Robb Stark’s memory if we renounced his wife!” He watched Rhaenys with his good eye, a wide smile upon his face. “There’s a woman I wouldn’t mind being ruled by.”

“She’s my queen from this day until her last day,” Lyanna declared.

Rhaenys continued to watch them, as they asserted their promise to fly their banners with her tattered one, to ride bravely and whet their steel in her name and their honor. She met eyes with the young Mormont and bowed her head, in respect and gratitude. Stannis Baratheon looked on, as the northerners made the choice he had long made, as they echoed the chorus Rhaenys hadn’t heard since Riverrun, all those months ago.

_“THE QUEEN OF ALL WESTEROS!”_

\---

It was late into the night when men and women left the Great Hall, their minds and hearts at some place of ease. Sansa left to take Rickon to bed, but not before Jon mussed his auburn hair and Rhaenys kissed him goodnight.

Rhaenys frowned at the sight of his bandaged left hand, where his smallest finger had been severed off. “It’s alright, Rhaenys,” Rickon insisted, throwing his arms around her neck. “It doesn’t hurt anymore…”

She smiled sadly, pressing her cheek against his hair. Stannis’ hand Davos Seaworth had found him, as he spurred to Castle Black. Osha and Shaggydog were with him, but Bran was not; Maester Luwin’s dying words had been to separate the brothers, to keep them safe as they hid. Davos planned to take Rickon and Osha to the Wall, but they were ambushed by Karstark men and taken to the Dreadfort. Rickon was ordered to Winterfell by Ramsay, to serve as his pawn. 

The hall grew deathly quiet, as Jon and Rhaenys were left. She rested her head upon her palm as the dragon slid from her shoulder to the table, stretching her wings out.

“You win them over so easily,” Jon mused, looking over at her. “I doubt there’s ever lived a man or woman that has been as respected, feared and loved like you.”

She glanced over at him, watching his face in the flickering candle light. “You think so?”

“Robb did,” Jon replied. “ ‘Sometimes, I can’t believe she’s real’, he once told me...”

Rhaenys closed her eyes in respite, smiling somberly. Her dear wolf twice made a queen of her, and he paid the highest price for his faith in her. She sighed heavily, vowing to do him more than justice until her last day.

“Once you return from the Dreadfort, i’ll sail to White Harbor,” she said quietly, repeating her plans to him. Jon bowed his head; he still was uncertain. He wanted Rhaenys to remain in Winterfell, so he could protect her; she only replied that no one could protect her--not anymore.

“Why Braavos?” He asked. “We can raise enough men in Westeros.”

“Jon, this is more than just a war-- this is a conquest,” she replied. “We have the North, the Vale, and Dorne, all of which have suffered losses. If we're lucky, Stannis will reclaim the Stormlands, but they too have suffered.”

“You think Oberyn had succeeded to rally his sellswords?”

“More than ever, if he thinks i’m dead.”

“And you still won’t let me go with you?” 

“Jon, I need you to help guard the North and protect Sansa and Rickon.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m an idiot-- I should know well enough that no man can change your mind.”

“You _are_ an idiot,” Rhaenys said, her voice light and teasing. Her smile widened as his did. 

“Does the queen mean to insult me?” He chuckled. “I’d return the favor, if her dragon wasn’t staring at me.”

Rhaenys scrunched her nose, a rare feeling of ease lulling her. Only then did she realize that she was safe, albeit for a fleeting time--but she was _safe_. Gone were the feelings of being hunted and the urgency to hide. Rhaenys was home, in Winterfell, with the ones she called brothers and sister...

Jon gazed at her, his warm expression slowly turning solemn. “Rhae... what do you intend to do with Walda Frey?”

Rhaenys’ own smile faded, as the heavy conflict stuck her heart. “Walder Frey’s daughter is pregnant with Roose Bolton’s babe,” she said softly. “I want them both dead... but…I can’t.” Would she let such an enemy slip by her because of a suddenly soft heart? 

But Jon looked relieved. “Rhaenys, you’ve too just a heart to condemn an unborn child.”

“A just heart,” she repeated bitterly, skimming the wood of the table with her fingernail. “I wanted House Bolton to be nothing but a passing memory, The Dreadfort another fallen castle. Yet, a Bolton child remains-- it’s father’s memory will remain.” _It’s not fair!_ Roose’s child would live, but Robb’s had been long bled.

“I know you want vengeance,” Jon said. “But don’t let that devour you and spit back a woman you wouldn’t recognize.”

“Did you recognize the woman who ran Roose Bolton’s throat through with a knife?” 

Jon’s dark grey eyes flickered in the firelight. “I recognized the woman who used to ride back from the wolfswood with tangled hair. The woman who wore a crown of winter roses on her wedding day. The woman who treated me like any true-born brother. The woman my brother loved more than anything. The woman who had suffered too much, for too long. I’d recognize you anywhere, Rhaenys. I hope I still can, until my last day."

\---

The chamber Rhaenys and Robb used to share had been prepared for her. When Sansa heard, she furrowed her brow and offered to have a servant ready another room, perhaps Rhaenys’ childhood one. But Rhaenys gave Sansa a sad smile and assured her it was alright. She would never accept that Robb was gone-- but she couldn’t deny it either.

The room was exactly how she left it, almost how it appeared in the bittersweet dream. Sonaral purred and quickly leapt from her shoulder to the floor of the roaring hearth. Rhaenys sat on the bed, watching as her dragon settled in front of the fire, much like how Grey Wind used to do when he was a pup. She closed her eyes and took a heavy breath, before laying her head on a pillow.

Vengeance was a fleeting feeling. It existed in rapture until it didn’t. Rhaenys expected more joy, more victory, something other than the hollow feeling within her chest; she felt no different than she had since awaking in that cave...

Sonaral suddenly shrilled, climbing onto the bed gracefully to prod Rhaenys with her horned head. Rhaenys looked up from the pillow, her eyes welling with tears. The dragon tilted her head, chirping softly and nestling into the crook of Rhaenys’ neck. She caressed Sonaral’s head with her fingertip, her mind picking through a bright sea of memories...

_At the foot of the bed’s mattress, she had lain on her belly, smiling as the direwolf pup looked up at her with round yellow eyes. He sat on the ground, his little tail twitching back and forth as he attempted to jump up. The direwolf yelped, as tumbled over his clumsy paws._

_“Oh, Grey Wind,” Rhaenys said fondly, reaching down to stroke his head. The pup yelped again, at the sound of his newly given name. At that moment, the chamber door opened, and Grey Wind wrested from her touch to clamber over to Robb._

_He spoke softly to his pup, before turning to her. “Are you alright?” He asked, his brow furrowed in concern. Rhaenys had been more than eleven days abed after the loss of her babe. Her strength had started to return, only to be supped on by another fever._

_She carefully moved so that she was sitting upright. Sometimes, she could still feel the ache the teeth marks had made in her womb. Rhaenys continued to mourn the little Stark that had suddenly bled from her after she fell faint. “I’m alright, Robb,” she replied, smiling reassuringly._

_Relieved, he looked down at the excited direwolf. “He hasn’t been giving you trouble, I hope.”_

_“Of course not. He’s a well-behaved wolf.” She scrunched her nose as she looked upon him dotingly. “Dare I say, more than you are?”_

_Robb smiled impishly, taking care not to stumble over Grey Wind as he walked over to the bed. “You may,” he simpered, sitting next to her and brushing his fingers against her warm cheek._ “After _you’re completely well.”_

_Rhaenys sighed, slightly annoyed. “I am well,” she grumbled. To prove it, she flung herself at him, and knocked them both to the mattress._

“ _Careful, Rhae!” Robb laughed, his azure eyes flickering with amusement as she couched atop him. Rhaenys giggled, as he gently tugged the end of her messy braid. From his place before the fire, Grey Wind squealed, scurrying from his feet to try and jump onto the bed again..._

Rhaenys stifled a sob, as she stared at the empty place in the bed. There was a feeling of respite, however. Relief in knowing that her dragon would be grown someday-- monstrous in size, with rows of teeth sharper than whetted steel and a fire to rival that of the sun. When that day came, they would lay waste and ruin to everyone who ever dared to wrong her.

\---

Rhaenys smiled, as a snowball narrowly missed her. Rickon giggled as well, while Shireen frowned. “You shouldn’t throw snow at the queen,” she chided.

“She’s my sister!” Rickon breathed, his cheeks flushed from cold and excitement. Rhaenys’ mood was greatly lifted by his returned spirit; his night had been a weary one, for he had nightmares and ran to what was his mother’s and father’s room, which was now occupied by Sansa.

Now, in the courtyard in front of the Great Keep, the two children were at play while Rhaenys watched over them.

“It’s alright, Shireen,” she said, smiling kindly at the young Baratheon. She and her mother arrived to Winterfell hours ago; Selyse was all but displeased at the arrangement, until Rhaenys coldly reminded her that she had nearly sent her only child to a pyre.

Shireen opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by another snowball. Rickon roared with laughter as Shireen brushed snow from her cloak. Her solemn face turned mischievous as she gathered more snow into her hands.

“Rickon, be nice,” Rhaenys called out. In the corner of her eye, she spotted a black cloaked figure approaching her. She could already see the faint glint of the silver mockingbird pin at his throat.

“A refreshing sight, Your Grace,” Lord Baelish said, standing next to her. “Children being children.”

“A welcomed sight,” Rhaenys agreed. She didn’t trust the man one bit, not even after she watched the Knights of the Vale spur onto the battlefield. Yet, he was Lord of the Vale and maintaining his trust and good will was imperative.

“I pray that such sights will return with your reign,” Lord Baelish smiled. He looked upon her with his grey-green eyes, his brows furrowed in thought. From what Rhaenys had picked from Sansa’s words, Petyr Baelish was a clever man, a cunning man, a careful man, a helpful man, and above all, a dangerous man. “Tell me, my queen, do you seek the throne for your happiness?”

Rhaenys gazed at him, “No, my lord.” she replied. “No crown can make me happy. I seek the throne for peace’.”

“Peace,” he echoed. “Not happiness, not power.”

“Do you think me naive?” 

Lord Baelish chuckled. “Certainly not. You searched your whole life for peace--when you found it at last, it was taken from you in the glint of a dagger.”

Rhaenys bowed her head, smiling for no reason other than her own knowing. “Then you know my heart desires more than just peace.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it, Your Grace. May I ask for their names?”

“Vengeance. Justice,” she spoke, looking up into his laughless eyes. “Fire and blood.”

Lord Baelish grinned. “My dear lady, you are a Targaryen queen for truth.”

Was he unsettled? Rhaenys couldn’t tell; all she knew was that he had his schemes. The Lord of the Vale had pledged his knights and men for her claim, but perhaps only for the sake of Sansa. His strange fixation with the girl he already used as his pawn was nothing less than harrowing.

“You are also still so young and very much beautiful,” he continued. “It would be a shame for you to live out your days as a widow.”

Rhaenys’s smile fell, as she looked upon him in disbelief. She had long chosen a cold bed and widowhood over the terrible alternative.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Lord Baelish said. “But I do not speak of matters of the heart. If you want to secure your crown and line, you will need heirs.” He gazed at her with his unwavering eyes. “You must have realized that by now.”

She had. Many times-- and every time it invaded her thoughts, she swept it away like cobweb that had gathered upon a window.

“I can be of help,” he promised. “Once you’re finally seated on the Iron Throne, of course. Perhaps a Tyrell, to ensure their fealty.”

Rhaenys pursed her lips as Lord Baelish watched her, studied her. “I will lie with no other man, nor will I bare his children. The sun will rise in the west before that happens.”

He looked upon her, almost sympathetically. “Robb Stark is gone, Your Grace. You can’t allow the past to rule over your future.”

Rhaenys clenched her jaw. “You have no right to tell me that it’s my duty to wed and bed another man!” She couldn’t bare the thought of a stranger speaking tender words to her, trailing his fingers along her skin, kissing her while he tangled his fingers in her hair.

Robb was hers, and she was his--until the end of her days.

“We all want what we can’t have,” Lord Baelish murmured. “This is a vicious game, my queen. You’ve not always the mercy of choice, if you want to make it out alive.”

“Do you speak of the game of thrones, my lord?” Rhaenys asked. The game of thrones-- a game she and Robb were unwittingly thrown into. A game with no middle ground; there was only victory or death. “Because there is a far _worse_ game to play.”

“Oh?” He remarked. “What would that be?”

“Mine, Lord Baelish,” she replied, her dark eyes unyielding. “The one where I play for my heart’s desires.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss frequent updating.


	47. a lord of crows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were whispers, rumors, horrors, about a monster that roamed the Riverlands

There were whispers, rumors, horrors, about a monster that roamed the Riverlands. _Dark as smoke_ , a man said to his companion, a tavern wench who gave more than ale to paying men. _With yellow eyes full of hate. He takes human prey._ In another inn, at another table, a man swore to the gods old and new that he saw the beast with his own eyes. _A wolf!_ He insisted, as his audience grew. _Larger than those mutts around God’s Eye_. The man took a swig of ale, leaving his loyal ears waiting with bated breath. _Howled at the sun, it did._

 _Wolves don’t howl at the sun,_ another man guffawed.

_This one did._

They knew of the monster, but hardly a soul knew of the man–because those who were ill-fated to cross paths with him never lived to speak.

His tryst with death made him unforgiving and harsh, his impaled heart long gone to stone. When he spoke, his words were edged like cold water. But his eyes were the most terrible things– flints of ice and hate.

The only times a slight of warmth came to him was when he spoke of his dead wife.

Truth be told, it was difficult to believe that this heartless hangman was once a girl’s beloved. Especially when the bannerless brothers watched as a pair of corpses were strung up in a tree. Robb Stark watched as the bodies swayed in the wind, his pale hands marked red from wrenching rope. His expression was dark and brooding, as it always was. It wasn’t pleasure he sought from his vengeance; it was only ever vengeance.

Harwin watched his lord with a twinge of guilt; this wasn’t the man he knew at Winterfell. The corpses were just boys, squires to the Freys, pleading that they had nothing to do with the wedding at the Twins. _Hang them!_ Robb spat, their beseeches lost upon a man who had long forsaken mercy. Harwin bowed his head, no longer wishing to look at the young dead faces. He thought of Ned and Catelyn Stark, wondering what they could have made of their first born son. He thought of Rhaenys; this wasn’t the man she had fallen in love with.

Robb gave the swinging boys a final look of contempt, before wordlessly leading his men away from the hanging tree.

Lord Beric used to say that the night was ‘dark and full of terrors’; Harwin was certain that Robb was becoming one of them.

—

Robb dreaded sleep. If and when he succumbed to it, he saw terrible things; his father’s headless corpse, his brothers’ burnt bodies, his mother’s wild look, his sisters screaming in fear, his wife bleeding and dying. He also saw beautiful things; a snow covered Winterfell, his mother and father alive and well, watching their younger children throw snow at one another ; Rhaenys embracing him from behind, her brown eyes full of laughter; Jon smiling and watching from afar. Then, he saw strange things; the dark of the forest, the rustling of small creatures, the bitter taste of blood on his tongue, the fear of men as he attacked them…

He tilted and leaned his head against the trunk of the tree. Dream or wake, what did it matter? The self-same thoughts overran his mind and heart, their tendrils of bones and thorns; but sometimes, a rose would bloom. A reminder of a life he once lived, of the dragon he loved more than anything. 

That night, he finally slept. Dreams found him quickly.

 _When he opened his eyes, he was home. In between the trees of the godswood, he could see the towers of Winterfell. It must have been summer once more– the air was warm and the wind was gentle. Had he really been gone for that long?_

_Robb turned around to look to the heart tree, it’s face melancholy and familiar. To his surprise and bliss, huddled next to the weirwood was Rhaenys; she had rested her head against the bone-white wood._

_At once, he ran to her, his heart brimming with joy. He crouched beside her, gently sweeping her black curls from her face–her eyes were closed in rest, rather than death._

_“Rhaenys?”_

_She stirred and turned to look at him with dark brown eyes, bright with life but heavy with sadness. “Robb,” she breathed, reaching to touch his cheek. “I was waiting for you…then I fell asleep.” Rhaenys smiled sheepishly, though the light could not ward away the shadows that had edged her eyes. Tears welled in Robb’s eyes, as he took her hand in both of his. She felt so cold…_

_“I kept you waiting…i’m sorry,” he said, kissing her hand._

_“You’re here now,” she replied._

Yes, but not for long, _Robb thought in anguish, pulling her to him._

_Rhaenys sighed, and pressed her cheek to his chest. A crow called out, cutting into the still air like steel, and she shivered at the sound. Robb tightened his embrace, glancing up at the trees; many had started to gather along the branches, black and awful as sin._

_“Are they here for me?” Rhaenys asked wearily, watching them with Robb._

What? _“No,” he promised, looking at her; when was she so fearful of crows? He cupped her face, skimming her tears away with his thumb. Another one cawed, a high and terrible sound. Rhaenys gazed upon his face, her teary eyes wide, knowing, and very frightened._

_“All crows are liars,” she breathed. “What does that make_ you _?”_

_Robb’s brow furrowed, his thoughts in a brume. What was she talking about? “Rhae, i’m not… i’m not a crow.”_

_“You’ve feasted them, well enough.” Rhaenys rested her head on his chest once more. “Don’t lie to me.”_

_Her words were forbidding, as was her accusation._

_“They will not have you.”_

_“I’m dead, Robb. They’ll have me longer than you did.”_

_Robb tilted her chin up, to look into her eyes once more; they were expressionless, no longer holding the familiar warmth–the eyes of a dead girl. He gazed upon her in dismay, feeling as her fingers caressed his surcoat, over his heart. “You had a heart once,” she murmured._

_“Once?” Robb echoed._

_“What kind of man turns a weirwood into a hanging tree?!” She hissed. Another crow shrieked and Rhaenys wrenched away from him, wrapping her arms around herself. She looked angry, betrayed, and terribly frightened_ of him. _Distraught, Robb approached her, only to watch as she took another step backwards. When Rhaenys brought the back of her hand to her mouth, Robb saw that her palm was wet with blood._

_At smell of her blood, a crow screamed and lunged at her, its black and curved talons out._

_“Rhaenys!”_

Robb woke, his skin cold and clammy. Dawn had broken the night, the sky bleeding red and orange. Grey Wind was bunting him softly with his head, a low whine in his throat.

“Lord Stark?” Harwin asked, approaching him carefully. 

Robb stood up, leaning on the tree as he did. “It’s nothing,” he rasped.

How many times had he dreamt of Rhaenys, either alive or dead? Never had it been the twain together. He would have wept at that sight of the brown eyes he loved so much– wild, confused, vacant, fearful of him. Yet, as he always did, he wept at the last sight of those eyes; wild, confused, loving, and dimming.

Dream or wake, what did it matter? 

Heart or no heart, he would always love her.

When Dennett got word of a Frey host near High Heart, Robb immediately spurred his men south to the sacred hill. 

—

Around the crown of High Heart stood a ring of thirty-one weirwood stumps. A song spoke of the Andal king Erreg, who slaughtered the children of the forest along with their animals and their First Men allies; after his ruin, he ordered his men to cut down every weirwood in the grove. 

The Brotherhood has reached the hill at twilight and Notch insisted to Robb that “no harm would ever come to those who sleep there.” Robb relented, allowing his men their rest. “The ghost of High Heart has been a long friend of the Brotherhood,” Dennett said.

“Ghost?” Robb repeated. He knew High Heart to be haunted, but long dismissed so as nursemaid tales.

“She’s so old, she may as well be,” Notch replied. “But what ghost complains of creaking joints?”

So they climbed the hill, its slopes covered in thickets of trees. When they reached a clearing to make their camp, the ghost was waiting. She was no more than three feet tall, her thin white hair as long as she was. Her flesh was paler than snow and her eyes were red, reminiscence of Jon’s direwolf (a ghost in his own right). In her right hand was a gnarled black cane. The ghost’s forehead furrowed at the sight of Robb.

“I see you, young wolf!” She cried out, her voice brimming with fear. “You are cruel to come to my hill, cruel! I gorged on grief at Summerhall, I need none of yours. Begone from here, stone heart. Begone!”

Robb’s gaze never wandered from the trembling dwarf woman, wondering what she knew of his grief. Dennett only sighed. “We leave on the morrow. He won’t trouble you or your hill.”

“My heart or my hill, it matters not! The lord who smelled of death had been worse enough. Is this a lord of wolves or a lord of crows?”

An ugly rage crossed Robb’s hollow heart. “Don’t speak to me of crows!” 

“She’s only an old witless women, living years beyond hers.” Harwin muttered. “Says she knows things. Claims the weirwoods whisper in her ear when she sleeps.”

The ghost watched the men with her dim red eyes, her gnarled fingers gripping her cane to steady herself. “The promise made to the old man of the north was fulfilled, and now these lands and rivers of the seven castles will bleed rubies and fire for it!”

 _She was a mad old crone_ , Robb decided.

“Did the old gods send you dreams again?” Luke asked sincerely.

“Aye. They stired and will not let me sleep. I dreamt of the king who bore the anvil’s crown, tossing his coin thrice. I dreamt a silver prince singing his song and I begged the old gods to let me sleep. I dreamt a wolf howling for the sun as if weeping for a maid. I dreamt a woman who was a dragon with woe and wrath for flesh and blood, her child birthed in the light of flames. When she woke from her labour, I woke from terror. All this I dreamt, and more.”

Robb glanced to his companions, clenching his jaw as they took in her words like children taking to a story. They sought rest, yet they wasted time on an old woman’s witless breath. “We leave at dawn’s light,” he muttered to Harwin, before turning his back on the ghost.

“Can none you sing?” He heard the old woman sigh. "How I miss my Jenny’s song…”

—

The Frey host was no more than thirty men, led proudly and smugly by Lothar Frey. He had been honored by his father, for being the first to have bled the Targaryen bitch. At twilight, they set camp, lit fires, passed around skins of wine, and shared merriment. They were less than two days from Riverrun, spurring to meet with Lord Emmon. 

But before the sun left the sky, they heard the terrible howl of a beast. 

Gooseflesh crept along Lothar’s skin; he hadn’t heard such a sound since the wedding…

From the shadows leapt the fishwives’ and drunken fools' monster of the Riverlands. Lothar cursed and cowered; he recognized the smoke grey fur and sinister yellow eyes and at once, the monster made sense. Yet, none of it made sense at all, for he was certain that the wolf had died along with his lord. 

The howl had been a battle cry; the dell was now swarming with bannerless men, their blades and steel-tipped arrows glinting. The Frey men shouted and spat, scurrying to find their swords and pikes. Lothar watched as his men were already bleeding from the ambush. He was never much use for fighting, but he gripped the hilt of his dagger as he limped for cover.

But there was no hiding from the wolf.

Grey Wind snarled when he saw Lothar Frey, and hurled himself at him. The Frey screamed and flinched back as the wolf bared his teeth at him, blood dripping from his teeth and jaws, bitter against his hot breath. 

But this man was not Grey Wind’s to kill.

Lothar turned his face away from the direwolf’s mouth, pleading for any man to slay the beast. Instead of a savior, he met eyes with a dead man. 

His screams stuck in his throat, as he fell frozen with a fear that not even the gods could have conceived. As his lord drew near, the direwolf bolted away to rip apart another Frey man. Lothar could not move, his bones numb with the rimy fear; even his dagger fled his stiff hand.

When Robb Stark looked upon him at last, the Frey wished that the direwolf had taken him instead.

“The last I saw you, Lothar Frey, you were standing over my wife as she bled!” he spat. “Her child along with her!” Robb lurched forward to seize the Frey by his neck, his cold fingers seizing clammy flesh. He did not want to hear this man speak a word, not a hollow taunt or a foolish plea; all he wanted was the sight of his lifeless black eyes. 

Lothar struggled in Robb’s grip, his screams and breath coming in dreadful wisps; his close-set eyes were wider than they’ve ever been. 

“I still hear her scream and I still see her bleed!” Robb snarled, digging his fingers into the Frey’s neck. "What had Rhaenys ever done to you?! She was good and kind, and you thought to kill her and her child!" Their little prince or princess. Robb could still hear her playful tease of having one of each-- their Elia and Eddard, beautifully brown-eyed like their sweet mother...

The hangman didn’t need his rope; in a murderous rage, he gripped Lothar Frey’s neck and wrenched it until he heard bones break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Robb POV bc we all miss him.


	48. far across the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys travels across the Narrow Sea, with the hopes of levying new swords and reuniting with her uncle.

As the river runner pressed south down the White Knife, the waters grey and still from the cold morning, Rhaenys watched the lands from the stern. The last she had sailed upon the river, everything was lush green; now the trees were bare and dusted with frost, but no less beautiful. She laced her gloved fingers together and sighed; the last she had seen the waterways, there was a different intent– north to Winterfell as a lord’s ward, as a boy’s betrothed. Rhaenys could remember the last visit to her mother’s tomb, beseeching her to speak to the gods and have them stop Uncle Doran from sending her from Sunspear and from marrying the Stark boy.

Rhaenys frowned and stared down at her hands. At her shoulder, Sonaral purred and gently bunted her cheek, as if sensing her sadness.

“What ails you, my queen?” Rhaenys looked up, upon Lord Monford Velaryon’s fair face. He was a handsome man, with laughing eyes of dark blue and hair of white-blond. On his sea-green cloak, was a white-gold seahorse. Like many of House Velaryon, he was Valyrian and even shared blood with both Rhaenys of old–the first had been mothered by a Velaryon woman and the second was wedded to a Velaryon lord. _We’re kin, you and I_ Lord Monford had said, as he pledged his sword and house to her.

“The last i’ve treaded these waters, it was for north, not south,” Rhaenys remarked. “I was angry and frightened for far more different reasons. I was sent away to marry a boy– now I return south grieving for the man.”

Lord Velaryon stood next to her, watching the trees as she did. “I sometimes wonder how much ink the gods use when writing our fates.” He glanced at her. “Did I ever expect a Targaryen to reclaim the throne during my lifetime? Did I expect to her to be a woman? Did I expect for me to follow her loyally to her castle?”

“I take it that no one did.”

He chuckled. “That’s for certain, Your Grace. But I promise you– many houses of the Narrow Sea have been awaiting the return of the Targaryens since Robert was crowned.”

“I’m sure Stannis was thrilled to hear of that.”

“The stag had long shed those shattered antlers,” he replied. “He was wise enough to change his mind at the sight of a dragon. Though, I suppose anyone would grow wise if they met eyes with a dragon…”

And Rhaenys was grateful for it. Now, Stannis Baratheon spurred south to reclaim the Stormlands and Storm’s End with his former Hand, Ser Davos Seaworth, at his side. After Ser Davos and the rest of the captives from the Dreadfort were brought to Winterfell, he was (expectedly) bewildered at the outcome of his king’s claim. But when he heard of Melisandre’s wicked plan to sacrifice Shireen to the red god, the knight flew into a rage, intent on killing the woman if he ever saw her again; his rage waned to sorrow, when he heard that his king had agreed to the red woman’s plan.

But Melisandre had long left the North, heeding to Rhaenys’ promise of no mercy, given only a horse and leaving the snowy lands in a flutter of her dark red cloak. Ser Davos was so grateful to Rhaenys, for sparing Shireen from a fiery death, that he was quick to bend the knee and ride south in her name.

An icy wind swept along the water and air, and Lord Velaryon cursed under his breath. “We’ve our own bitter winds on Driftmark, but these northern ones are something entirely different. The Stark’s winters must hold them prisoner in their own castles as well as to their frowns.”

“My lord, I can attest; the Starks do smile.”

“Aye, you would know,” Lord Velaryon sighed. “You would know…” 

Rhaenys return her gaze to harsh lands. She hadn’t even reached the Narrow Sea and she already terribly missed Sansa, Rickon, and Jon. Rickon had cried, begging her to stay. Sansa’s desire to see Rhaenys on the Iron Throne had won over her own fears; yet a sister’s worry always won. Jon was still uneasy, even if Rhaenys was accompanied by Asha, Theon, Lord Velaryon, and six knights sworn to Dragonstone. 

Her brothers and sister, as good as any. Rhaenys wondered if she would ever see then again. _I have to_ , she thought. _I promised them…_ If she didn’t, then the wolves would never have their peace and long lives.

“While we were still south, we heard rumors about The Young Wolf,” Lord Velaryon remarked. “They said he held an army of wargs at his command, and that he was one of them himself.”

Rhaenys had heard the exact same rumors herself; Robb had been more than amused when he heard them. _If such was true, then this war would have been over months ago,_ he had said, before teasingly adding: _and it would mean that a pup grows in your belly_. “Plenty of southrons had much to say about Robb,” she replied bitterly. “Strange rumors, foul lies and, humorless jests.”

“When you are crowned and sat upon the Iron Throne, no one from any corner of Westeros will dare speak ill of your king again,” Lord Velaryon promised.

—

The great hall of New Castle was called the Merman’s Court. Its walls, floor, and ceiling were made of wooden planks, decorated with various creatures of the sea, and painted with the blue of the seas. Opposite of the entrance was a dais where a large cushioned throne stood; upon that day, Lord Wyman Manderly sat, looking upon the woman he long believed dead.

The last Rhaenys saw the Lord of White Harbor had been at her wedding. Just as she remembered, his girth was great and his laugh even greater; when she and her companions were brought into the hall, Lord Manderly laughed merrily. “My dear lady, you are just as alive as I saw you upon your wedding day!” As he spoke, his pale green eyes found the dragon at her shoulder. 

“Lord Manderly, we’ve much to discuss, all this and more,” Rhaenys said as Sonaral chirped in her ear.

“I’ve all the time in this damned world for Robb Stark’s queen.”

And he did. By evenfall, Lord Manderly had promised her his men and fleets, swayed by the Boltons’ demises and Walda Frey’s capture, and reassured by Rhaenys’ bravery and the love that Robb had for her.

“The north remembers, my dear lady. The north remembers, and the death of Roose and his bastard proves it. Likewise, House Manderly remembers. The debt White Harbor owes to the Starks of Winterfell is one that can never be repaid. I was ready to welcome you as the Lady of Winterfell, and now I am more than ready to welcome you as Queen of Westeros.”

—

A man of stone and bronze guarded the Free City of Braavos. He was called the Titan of Braavos, larger than the giants that Old Nan used to speak her tales of. While his legs were the stone of the islands he stood upon, all above his waist was bronze. One hand rested at the top of a ridge, bronze fingers wrapped around the stone; the other was thrust into the air, holding the hilt of a massive broken sword. 

As the _Sea Wolf_ passed under the Titan, Rhaenys could spy the sprawling city of Braavos, a seemingly endless outspread of hundreds of islands across the lagoon. Sonaral shrieked as the Titan began to roar terribly, alerting his city of new visitants. She leapt from Rhaenys and gracefully glided to one of the ship’s shrouds. Rhaenys wasn’t sure when her hatchling would grow into a fledging and take to true flight; Sonaral had been using the brisk winds to lift her wings.

Asha joined Rhaenys and Theon at the prow. “We are to dock at Ragman’s Harbor,” she said, gesturing to their destination. “Maris said that many sellswords hang about those docks.”

Rhaenys nodded in response and glanced over her shoulder to the ship’s stern; she should still see the open sea from the gap of the Titan’s stance. 

“Don’t look back,” Asha said. “It won’t help you now.”

—

The Inn of the Green Eel had no shortage of a singing man or woman. Rhaenys watched on wearily, unheedingly twisting the end of her braid around her finger. Even in a large and sundry city like Braavos, the feeling of being hunted started to linger again. She had abandoned her northern dress and furs in favor of Braavosi clothing–a pleated skirt of dark brown that fell to the ankles of her boots, and a white long-sleeved blouse tucked into the waistband; over the blouse was a brown wool long-coat. The return of “Elly” helped to assure the facade; yet, the uneasy feeling had already long settled.

Asha pushed a cup of ale towards her. “You’re leagues away from your enemies, you know.” Speaking freely was done without concern; the clamor of the inn’s tavern did well to mask words. 

“Habits are hard to kill,” Rhaenys replied, curling her fingers around the cup.

“You’ve killed worse.” She crooked her head to the cup. “Drink.”

As Rhaenys relented and drank her ale, Asha sighed. “I know we’ve all had some bad years–”

Rhaenys nearly sputtered on her drink. “ _Bad years?!_ ” She hissed. 

“Listen. I’m Ironborn and you’re the blood of the dragon. We are both greater than whatever it is we’ve been though, and that’s how we’re going to get our way.” Asha leaned back in her seat, looking upon her with a hardened gaze. 

“You’re very charming, did you know that?” Rhaenys scowled, as she continued to nurse the ale.

Asha’s dark-grey eyes warmed and she chuckled. “I didn’t become my father’s heir because of my blessed charm.” She looked around them, searching for any telltale signs of the Second Sons or the Golden Company. Lord Velaryon and a couple of the knights sat some tables away, also attempting to gather information about the famous sellswords and whereabouts of The Red Viper.

“Pity Theon hadn’t joined us,” Asha grunted, taking a swig of ale. He had settled to watch Sonaral on the _Sea Wolf_ and keeping a distance from just about everyone else. “My brother still cowers like a beaten dog, even after he killed the bastard that harrowed him.”

“Bad years,” Rhaenys repeated bitterly, emptying her cup. Throughout their journey, flickers of Theon Greyjoy came and went; Reek still lived even after his master was dead. Rhaenys knew well enough that there were wounds that would never heal, and all it took was a mere word to have them bleed again.

Asha snorted impatiently. “I need my brother, as do you. Dearest Uncle Euron is hunting for us, and he doesn’t mean for a happy reunion.”

“Once we return to Westeros, your uncle is as good as dead,” Rhaenys said.

“I believe you, Dragon Queen.” She looked at her from the cup’s rim. “Do you believe _me_?”

Even after Rhaenys promised the northerners justice for the Greyjoys’ invasion, many were still angry that she chose even think of pardoning them. Even after Sansa gave Theon her pardon, many were still uncertain. But if Rhaenys wanted to be Queen of _All_ Westeros, she needed the Iron Islands– she needed the Greyjoys. 

“You _know_ that if you decide to betray me, i’ll kill you myself,” Rhaenys said, leaning forward. “And I know that you respect my consideration of such, because we share the same ways. So yes, Asha Greyjoy, I believe you.”

Asha smiled wryly. “I should have offered you my hand in marriage as well as my sword.”

“I would have declined, but thank you for the offer,” Rhaenys replied coyly.

“Aye, I know you would have--but there will be men from all over Westeros fighting to put their seed in you,” she mused. “Fear not, i’ll make sure they think twice.” Asha glanced over at Lord Velaryon. “Pardon me, my dear queen. I’ve been at sea for a long time and I happened to have spotted a brothel near the harbor.”

As she left, Rhaenys smirked and rested her cheek on her palm. Then she noticed that an older man sat not too far away had been looking at her; his hair was entirely grey, though his beard and eyebrows were a fiery red. When she met eyes with him, he turned away at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make this longer, but I didn't want to cram such a long span of days in one chapter. Sorry if this seems short.
> 
> Also, if I ever write a Rhaenys/Asha fic in the future, don't be surprised.


	49. along came the spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The last I heard of you, you were killed at Walder Frey’s castle," he replied. "If a dead girl walks in Braavos, she would know her true name."

The Braavosi were a kind people, quick to smile and eager to help. For eleven days, Rhaenys had been at the mercy of such kindness, haring around the quays and canals with all the haste of someone who had lost something. Before long, she was Elly– the orphan from King’s Landing with unyielding brown eyes who knew more than she was telling.

 _“Who might you be?”_ An old sea captain from the Summer Isles had asked.

_“No one, really.”_

_“Well, what business would you have with a sellsword?”_

_“No reason,” she replied._

Such were her answers, every time. But many allowed Rhaenys to her secrets, sharing what they knew and wishing her all the luck in the world. They meant their best, but rumors ran wild. Word was that Oberyn Martell of Sunspear had assumed leadership of the Second Sons and left for Pentos, or perhaps for Tyrosh. The Golden Company was said to have broken their contract to Myr, but no one knew why. Some thought the Red Viper had something to do with it. _He gathers an army_ a shopkeeper said. _Those Westeroi lords have been playing their game of thrones again._

—

At midday, Rhaenys sat upon a stone wall near the Happy Port, shucking and eating cockles as she watched the growing crowds. She had started venturing out alone, the feeling of being hunted gone by her fourth day in Braavos. Lord Velaryon was uncertain, but Asha claimed otherwise, saying that no one in Essos had any idea that a queen walked among them. 

A scraggly black cat leapt onto the wall and approached Rhaenys warily, meowing as it did so. She smiled and offered it a cockle. Had Sonaral been with her, she would have attacked the poor thing out of boredom. The dragon had been growing restless, stuck aboard the _Sea Wolf_ and tasting the air only when the sun fell. The cat purred, eating the meat from Rhaenys’ hand. She had been so taken with the cat, that she didn’t see the red-bearded man, the one from the Inn of the Green Eel. He was standing close to a begging and pox-marked blind girl, tipping a coin into her bowl as he looked upon Rhaenys.

The cat suddenly hissed and ran off, leaving Rhaenys bemused. She gathered the cockle shells into the small basket and tucked the knife away in the pouch on her belt. When she jumped from the wall, she met eyes with the man once again. Rhaenys stiffed, as the pale-blue burned into her. She hadn’t seen him since her first night in Braavos. 

Growing uneasy, she joined the merry mass of people, walking at a normal pace, weaving in and out of people, and forbearing the urge to look over her shoulder. Soon, Rhaenys came to a market and stopped before one of the stalls, pretending to examine the woman’s wares. Finally, she dared to glance behind her; the man was still following her. 

Rhaenys took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly in weariness and remembering the knife in her pouch. Then she took off, bumping into several people as she did so. Several cursed and shouted as she ran along the canal. She crossed one of the bridges, intending to find a hiding place in the Inn of the Green Eel; the innkeeper knew her face well enough.

Upon looking behind her once more, the man had vanished. Rhaenys slowed her haste, breathless and looking around frantically. People starting giving her strange looks, some asking if she was alright. She nodded, resuming a casual pace. Spotting the rooftops of the inn to her right, and the _Sea Wolf’s_ mast on her left, Rhaenys allowed herself a moment of respite. 

The strange man, with pale blue eyes and a fiery-red beard; why did he seem familiar to her? Rhaenys walked along the canal, her heart still heavy with fear. As she reached the bridge near the inn, she saw him standing in front of it, his red wolf-skin cloak lightly fluttering in the wind. 

“Lass,” the man called out. He wisely made no more attempts to approach her. “Keep running and you’ll lose your way,” he said. “And don’t even think about jumping into the damn canal.”

"What do you want from me?!” Rhaenys demanded. People started to stare as she yelled.

“Your name,” the man replied. “Just your name.”

Rhaenys had been so careful under the bastardly veil. “I’m Elly,” she replied, hoping to humor him well enough so she could be on her way.

“Is that right?” He asked, his eyes narrowing at her. “Elly. Clever. Did you name yourself for your mother?”

Her heart fell. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Tell me your name, girl–the one your father gave you.”

Rhaenys raised her chin boldly. “I’m Elly, and no one else. You’re either mad or mistaken or very likely both.”

The slightest of smiles came to his face, as if amused. “I’ll be fair, then. My name is Jon Connington.”

Her brow furrowed. She heard of Jon Connington before; he was a friend of her father. He was also the Lord of Griffin’s Roost during Robert’s Rebellion, even served as Aerys’ Hand until the Mad King sent him into exile to Essos after Rhaegar was killed.

“How about it, lass?”

Curious and bewildered, Rhaenys slowly approached him. He couldn’t have been more than forty, yet his face was lined and leathery, the corners of his eyes edged with wrinkles. She looked up into his drawn face. “You wouldn't have chased me for a name if you were weren't certain about it.”

"The last I heard of you, you were killed at Walder Frey’s castle," he replied. "If a dead girl walks in Braavos, she would know her true name."

She stared at him, still uncertain. Oberyn had also spoke of Lord Connington once. _Proud, for a certainty_ her uncle said. _Even arrogant. A faithful friend to Rhaegar, but prickly with others_. Then his dark eyes grew scornful. _He thought your mother unworthy of Rhaegar…_

“Rhaenys,” she relented, her voice all but a whisper. 

Jon Connington closed his eye in respite. When he opened them, they were bright with relief. “I never thought I set eyes on Rhaegar’s little girl again….the last I saw you, you were playing with that cat in the godswood.”

“The godswood?” She thought her first sight of a godswood had been at Winterfell.

“Aye. At the Red Keep. You’d beg your nursemaid to take you there when you were scared.” He continued to gaze upon her, as if searching for Rhaegar amidst Elia. “You look like your mother, but I still see Rhaegar in you. I hear him in your voice."

Rhaenys bowed her head, to ease herself of his piercing gaze. “You have my name. Now, will you let me be on my way?”

“This wasn’t chance. I was beseeched to find you.”

“By who?” She demanded. “Nearly all of Westeros thinks me dead.”

Before he could answer, they heard the roar of a crowd, somewhere near the quays; someone then shouted “The King In The North!” 

At once and without thinking, Rhaenys ran pass Lord Connington and across the bridge, towards the quay where the _Sea Wolf_ was docked. Again, she heard the joyous clamor of a crowd. They were gathered before a stone wall, looking on as group of garishly clothed people stood on a raised wooden platform. Upon the wall behind them hung five banners; it was the one of grey and direwolf that caught Rhaenys’ eye. 

She joined the audience, keeping to the edge, as they all eagerly looked upon the unfolding play. The mummers were five men, each wearing the colors and sigils of the kings they were playing. A man with a booming voice narrated the “war of the five kings”, but even his vehement words were lost on Rhaenys; one of the mummers wore a direwolf upon his surcoat, as he wore a wolf’s head upon his own. 

Rhaenys looked on, her brow furrowed and her eyes sad. It wasn’t until the wolf-headed man yelled “i’m The King In The North!” did a weasely faced mummer with a painted face charge at him with a wooden longsword; the wolf’s head rolled away, causing many to shriek. The mummer fell to the ground, his true head swathed in red gossamer as if to feign a severed neck. 

What made it even worse were the people, who began to laugh and cheer. Rhaenys breathed deeply, tearing her teary gaze from the wolf head to the bright sky. She felt someone gently grasp her shoulder.

“Come on, lass,” Jon Connington muttered, leading her from the farce. They walked along the docks, drawing near to the _Sea Wolf_ . By then, the tears had escaped from Rhaenys’ eyes and down her face. Before returning to the ship, she and Lord Connington sat upon one of the quays. Rhaenys stared into the watery depths, tears dripping down her cheeks and onto the lagoon’s surface.

“You really loved that wolf, didn’t you?” Lord Connington asked.

“More than anything.”

“…Just as Rhaegar loved his.”

Lord Connington continued to gaze out at the lagoon, watching the _Sea Wolf’s_ sails flutter in the breeze. “Your grandfather’s spymaster, Lord Varys,” he said. “He’s in Pentos, and he asked me to find you. I hadn’t seen that Spider in years. Next thing I know, one of his mice finds me in a tavern and gives me a letter. I thought he'd have me chasing a false dragon-- yet when I saw your face, I knew I was proven wrong."

Rhaenys thought to question him about how Varys knew she was alive; then she decided not to waste breath. She knew well about Lord Varys’ and his little mice and birds. Ser Barristan had told her enough. Perhaps she should’ve been grateful that Varys hadn’t sold his findings to the Lannisters.

“He wants to help you,” Lord Connington said. “ _I_ want to help you.”

“Why would you want to help me?” 

“Because I failed the father. I won't not fail the daughter.”

—

“Can you trust him?” Theon asked again. Rhaenys had been staring out into the sea, an endless horizon where blue met blue, as the _Sea Wolf_ treaded water once again. She stifled a sigh, turning to look upon his weary face. The flicker of Theon Greyjoy had returned, albeit more careful and less arrogant. Once, Rhaenys would have welcomed such a change; yet, she couldn’t help but wish for the Theon she had grown up with, reckless and willful.

“Remember when I left Winterfell for Cailin, with Varys’ word in my cloak? Had it not been for him, then you all would have been ambushed at the Ruby Ford.”

“Rhae, you don’t owe that man anything,” Theon insisted. “Especially not when Robb is dead.”

Rhaenys bit her lip. “Theon, I don’t know what to do next. If Lord Varys knows, or even thinks he knows, then I want to hear it.”

As she spoke, Sonaral shrieked, before diving from her perch on the railing to the the depths of the sea. Moments later she emerged with a fish, flying high to toss and set the fish afire before taking it into her jaws.

Perhaps it was the persistent sea winds that lifted her, but the dragon had taken to the sky, truly and gracefully, the dark frost of her wings gossamer in the bright sun. Rhaenys smiled as Sonaral purred and returned to her perch. “Children,” Lord Velaryon said, his dark eyes shining. “They do grow fast.” Stood next to him was Jon Connington, still wordlessly amazed at the sight of a living dragon.

But as Lord Connington told Rhaenys, Sonaral was not the first dragon to return to the world. _Your aunt Daenerys, mothers three of them_ he had said, much to Rhaenys’ wonder…

—

Pentos was surrounded by high walls, yet it was considered the most venerable of the Free Cites. As the _Sea Wolf_ sailed into the Bay of Pentos, Lord Connington pointed to a grand manse in the distance, at the furthest end of the city’s walls “That is where the Spider’s been weaving his webs. His host is Illyrio Mopatis, a Pentoshi cheese lord.”

“Why would such a man care about sheltering Varys?” Rhaenys asked.

“Because he wants the Targaryens restored nearly as much as Varys does,” he grunted. “With Viserys dead from his own folly and Daenerys playing dragon queen in Slaver’s Bay, very little of what the fat man has anticipated has come to pass. Gods help him if he tries to have you dance to his pipes next.”

As the _Sea Wolf_ docked at a quay, Rhaenys could see that at least twenty men had been waiting for them. Their garb was plain and without ornament; quilted tunics and spiked bronze caps, all armed with spears and round shields.“The Unsullied,” Lord Connington told her. “Slave solders from Astapor, with unquestionable obedience and prowess.”

“ _Slaves_?” Rhaenys repeated, in dismay.

“Aye, they fight for no one but the man they are sold to.”

“I thought slavery no longer existed in Pentos,” Asha remarked. “That wouldn’t make it much of a Free City.”

“Those who serve here are slaves in all but name.”

Rhaenys called for Sonaral, and the dragon flew from a shroud to her shoulder. She was pleased by how heavy the hatchling had grown. They all left the ship, Rhaenys being flanked by Asha and Lord Connington.

Among the Unsullied was a dark-haired young boy with wide green eyes. “Is that a dragon?!” He exclaimed in Common Tongue.

“Seven hells, boy, do you want all of King’s Landing to hear you?” Connington muttered. Rhaenys only looked kindly upon the boy, brightened by the innocent wonder in his face. “She is.”

Four of the Unsullied carried an elaborately carved palanquin, mostly likely meant for Rhaenys– for a queen. She waved it away, opting for one of the horses they brought with them. After Theon helped her to mount the spotted mare, Rhaenys gazed out to the furthermost walls of the city, caressing Sonaral’s neck.

The horseless Unsullied formed a protective circle around them, as they began their ride to Illyrio’s manse. 

—

As they rode through the gatehouse of the manse, they were greeted by a lush garden. In the center of a marble pool stood a marble boy, naked, lithe, and poised to duel with a slender blade in his hand. Around the pool were six cherry trees, their flowers a delicate shade of pink.

The young boy led them down a path flanked by emerald trees and plump Unsullied guards. At the end was a mouth of the manse, where two men awaited them. One was clothed in bright orange, taller and fatter than Lord Manderly was; his hair was mouse brown, his beard forked and braided. The other man was plump and completely bald with a powered face. In contrast to his garishly clothed companion, he wore a more modest, but rich, robe of deep plum.

The bearded man looked to the palanquin expectantly, his smile already wide in welcome; but the other man searched upon the horse’s riders. When he met eyes with Rhaenys, his smile was small and knowing.

“Rhaenys Targaryen,” he called out, his voice soft. Rhaenys slid off the horse, keeping to it and her companions. Illyrio Mopatis’ brow furrowed, as he turned from the empty palanquin to her. “ _This_ is a Targaryen?!” He exclaimed.

“Did you expect another Daenerys?” Lord Connington scoffed, amused by the Magister of Pentos’ fluster.

Lord Varys approached them, his gait soundless and graceful. He stopped before Rhaenys, looking upon her face. “Does the creature at her neck not prove her dragonblood, Illyrio?” Varys asked impatiently. “Night or silver, a dragon is still a dragon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon Con. We meet again. I ONCE had a head canon that he would have disliked Rhaenys b/c she looked like Elia BUT: a) i've screwed over Rhae enough, and b) i think Jon loved Rhaegar too much to scorn his only living child.


	50. along with the imp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Trust was a fickle thing nowadays."

A slave girl led Rhaenys to an airy bathchamber that overlooked both the Bay of Pentos and the Flatlands. As another girl drew a bath, Rhaenys wandered to the balcony. The Flatlands seemed like an endless sea of grass, brown and musty green– in the distance rose and rolled low hills. She breathed deeply, resting her palms on the stone parapet as she wondered about Lord Varys’ plans and plots. Even after his letter to Winterfell, Rhaenys couldn’t help but wonder if she was right to trust him. Trust was a fickle thing nowadays. 

As she turned around, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror on the wall. Her hair was windblown from the sea and ride, her Braavosi clothes rather drab compared to the grandeur of the manse. Rhaenys supposed that in the eyes of Illyrio Mopatis, she didn’t look much like a queen. 

She watched as the girl poured another basin of steaming water into the great marble tub. When the bath had been filled, a fair-haired girl helped her to undress. Rhaenys heard the girl wince softly at the sight of the scars on her back and belly, and did her best to assure her that they were only scars. After the sea salt had been washed and wrung from her untangled curls, and the long journey scrubbed away from her skin, another slave girl entered the chambers with a silk dress draped over her arms. “The Magister’s choice,” she told Rhaenys. Atonement for his doubt.

The sleeveless gown was deep blue and loose, with a belt of gold. A delicate cape of the same blue and with gold flower embroidery fell gracefully behind her shoulders. The dress reminded Rhaenys of the ones that women wore in Sunspear and Dorne. 

After Rhaenys was dressed, she was led to another garden, this one overlooking the bay and surrounded by trees and orange flowers. Under a pavilion of airy silks and running vines, Lord Varys waited, sat upon a cushioned seat. “You look lovely,” he said, gesturing to the seat beside him.” Rhaenys smiled slightly, looking around for any sign of her companions.

“Where are the others?” She asked, as she settled against a cushion. Another slave brought a crystal decanter of wine and bowls of various fruit.

“Fret not. They’ll join us in due time,” Varys replied. “I have waited many years for a private word with you. Needless to say, we’ve much to speak about.”

Rhaenys smiled again, but almost grimly. “I’m sure you’ve much to say.”

“Oh, my thoughts are a wheel, Your Grace. Where do they begin and end? Where will they take me?”

“They’ve brought you to Pentos, my lord,” She remarked. “Which begs the question, how did you know I was alive and in Braavos?”

“My little birds, Your Grace,” Lord Varys replied. “I heard them twittering from Braavos. They spoke of a Dornish girl with a dragon– the odds of such only made sense in a wonderful conclusion. I sent word to the captain of the Golden Company, Jon Connington, the only man I trust to bring you here.”

Rhaenys folded her hand in her lap, the sea breeze grazing her bare skin. She wasn’t used to wearing such airy dresses. “Why him?” Jon Connington was only ever a passing name, a disgraced lord who attracted rumors and inklings of his fate. 

“He was loyal to the Targaryens, but more importantly, he was loyal to Rhaegar.” 

“And that, in turn, makes him loyal to me?”

Varys clasped his fingers together. “You have every right to question him, but I assure you– you will not find a more faithful man to you than Jon Connington.”

 _Look in a grave_ Rhaenys thought bitterly. _Then you’ll find the more faithful man_. “I came to Essos to rebuilt my armies,” she said, as grief drew out its bony wings. “And to find my uncle.”

“I guessed such,” he replied. “And I happen to know that Oberyn Martell had sailed east for Meereen some time ago.”

“East to Meereen?” Rhaenys repeated, taken aback by such a journey. “What for? He had crossed the Narrow Sea to search for the Seconds Sons.”

“As Oberyn had done, but since he believes you dead, my guess is that he travels to treat with a woman he shares a common enemy with,” Varys said. “I’m sure you didn’t think to reunite with both an a uncle and _aunt_ in Meereen, but fate is fate.”

Rhaenys furrowed her brow. Daenerys Stormborn, her true aunt– another Targaryen with a birthright. “You want me to meet with Daenerys?”

“You both think yourselves the rightful Queen of Westeros,” Varys remarked. “Daenerys may have the dragons and the men, but what else? You’ve already Dorne and the North, the Vale and the Stormlands. You have reconquered our country with far less. You can both learn much from each other."

“Then why should _I_ go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar?” Rhaenys demanded. “I’ve already been far from home for far too long. Let her come to me, in Westeros.”

“The last we need is another Dance of the Dragons,” he replied. “But your claim is stronger than hers. What do you fear?”

“This isn’t about my claim! I’m worry about what will become of my family! The Lannisters have long plotted an attack on Dorne, and its a matter of time before they send men North to try and steal Winterfell away from the Starks.”

“You have heart, Rhaenys Targaryen,” Varys sighed. “It’s what allowed you to trust me before we’ve even met, when you left Winterfell to warn your husband of Tywin’s ambush. It’s what sent you north to aid the wolves you call your brothers and sisters. Perhaps it is the reason why another dragon was born into the world. Yet, such a heart can also mean a willful and reckless mind.”

Rhaenys opened her mouth to retort, but she only sighed, rather annoyed. She’d been called both willful and reckless more than once. “Unfavorable habits for a woman or a queen?”

“With the proper guidance, they can be in your favor,” Vary reassured her. “A queen is not without her counsel.”

Rhaenys heard the sound of heavy bootsteps approaching them. She looked behind her to see Jon Connington, who came to a halt her chair; he seemed grim. From the other side of the garden, came more bootsteps, lighter and smaller. Rhaenys thought them to be a child, until she recognized the man with a jutting forehead and mismatched eyes of black and green. In his hand, he carried a glass decanter; in the other, a gilded cup.

“Hello, Queen Rhaenys,” Tyrion Lannister said, raising his cup to her. “You look alive and well.”

At once, Rhaenys rose from her seat as a terrible fury overcame her. Before she could make any movements to strangle the Lannister, Lord Connington gripped her by her arms, as though he had long anticipated how she would react. “LET ME GO!” She snarled, struggled in his hold.

Tyrion only watched her, almost with pity. “If it’s any consolation, I had nothing to do with your husband’s death.”

“ _THE LANNISTERS' REGARDS!_ ” Rhaenys shrieked, as the Imp swilled his wine. “Is what Roose Bolton gave to Robb before he killed him!” 

From behind Tyrion, Asha and Theon rushed into the garden, followed by Lord Velayron, the Dragonstone knights, and a few of Illyrio Mopatis’s guards along with Illyrio Mopatis himself. The Imp turned around to raise his cup to them, as though in greeting; Theon seemed to pale at the sight of him.

“Do I have to drag you from this place, lass, or are you going to sit down now?” Lord Connington grunted. 

Rhaenys relented, falling back onto her seat though Connington kept a gentle clasp on her shoulder. Tyrion looked to Illyrio Mopatis. “Excuse her behavior,” he said. “She was raised by wolves.” 

But Mopatis appeared more fascinated than concerned.

“What is _he_ doing here?!” Rhaenys demanded, looking angrily to Varys. “If you actually believe i’ll have anything to do with the Lannisters–”

“Not the Lannisters,” Varys insisted. “Just Tyrion.”

 _Just Tyrion_. Rhaenys could have laughed. “Lord Varys, you know what his house had done to my family! I don’t need to repeat any of it!”

“His house– yes,” Varys agreed. “But not this man.”

“You really think that matters to me?!”

“What matters to you is the war in our country. You want it to end, and you want peace. I know that once you are on the Iron Throne, then all that shall happen, and more.”

This was turning into a farce, more so as Lord Varys continued to speak. “With his instincts and compassion, Your Grace, Tyrion can help you climb the steps of the Iron Throne.”

Rhaenys watched Tyrion as he stood there with his wine. There was nothing malicious or mocking in his own gaze. Actually, he looked quite defeated, especially with his overgrown beard and almost empty decanter. “You want revenge against the Lannisters?” He asked. “I’ve already killed my own mother. My own sister thought to have me executed for murdering her precious boy. My own brother lied to my face for years and years and in turn, I promised vengeance to his own face, and to the shadows of my father’s and sister’s faces.”

He poured the last of the wine into his cup. “I think we both had enough of my fucking family.”

Rhaenys bowed her head, and rose from her chair once more. “Pardon me, my lords,” she said, before turning her back on every one of them, and walking away.

—

Rhaenys stared out to the Bay of Pentos, her arms crossed tightly as if to keep herself whole. The breeze grew warm like a dragon’s breath, brushing against her skin. Outrage had long faded to a usual gloom, the fear of being betrayed once again now a passing thought. Her brow furrowed as she heard the small boot steps again. 

“You are a remarkably strong woman,” Tyrion Lannister declared. Rhaenys turned to look at him. His decanter had been replenished, and he held another gilded cup in addition to his own.

“Why is that?” Rhaenys asked curtly, looking down at him.

Tyrion placed his cups upon the stone parapet, filling them both generously. “Because if I had known even half of your sorrows, I would have drunk myself to death.” He pushed one of the cups towards her, before taking his own. 

“You seem to be doing that already.”

“I drink to your heath, good queen. Though, i’ve taken enough wine to make you immortal. Unforgivable on your part, I suppose– you wish to see your Stark again.”

Rhaenys grew sullen, returning her dark gaze to the waters. Tyrion sighed. “Cersei was convinced that I had murdered Joffery. When I demanded a trial by combat, I lost most viciously and was sent to a black cell to live out my hours. Jamie freed me and sent me to Varys, and now here we are.”

“You didn’t kill Joffery?” Rhaenys bothered to ask, still staring out into the bay.

“No. I did not.” She heard him refill his cup. “Dare I ask you about Sansa?”

Rhaenys glanced at him. The Imp was watching the waters as she did, his face as weary as hers. Sansa had told her that he had spent their wedding night on an armchair, along with every night after that, promising to never touch her unless she allowed it–he kept well to that promise. “She’s safe.”

Tyrion sighed in relief, before gulping his wine. Rhaenys looked over at the cup he offered her and reached to take it. “What happens now?” She asked.

“Varys had convinced me that I should serve you,” he replied. “Now I have to convince you to take me into your service.”

“Or, I can have you thrown over this edge and be done with this madness.”

“It would be easier for you.” Tyrion agreed, staring at the bottom of his hollow cup. “Your name was always a whisper at Casterly Rock–Lord Tywin’s bane and Ser Jaime’s tarnish. It was worse in Robert’s court, where you were made out to be some scaled and hideous waif. Some men even placed wagers on who your maidenhead would be sold to, what man to be so unfortunate to have you in his bed. I didn’t know what to expect when I went north to witness this ‘dragonspawn’s’ wedding. But the maid I saw in Winterfell would have disappointed many people because she was beautiful and kind, truly and deeply loved by the man she had been promised to. She was my father’s bane and my brother tarnish, and I wished her every joy and warmth the world had to offer.” He placed his cup down at last, looking up Rhaenys with his mismatched eyes. “If you think casting me into the waters below would make your life any easier or any better, then by all means, do it.”

Rhaenys stared at the Imp, not sure of what to make of him or his words; she only found quiet words for the question she had since they met eyes: “Did you know about the wedding?”

“Not until after it happened,” he replied. “Not until my father called me to read Walder Frey’s letter. Joffery stood there, grinning like a court fool, expecting us all to gloat together like a happy family.” Tyrion snorted. “Well, whoever killed Joffery did kind enough to have done it at his own wedding feast.”

Rhaenys bit the inside of her cheek, setting her empty cup aside and resting her hands upon the stone. “Did he ask for Robb’s head?”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “He did, actually. My father had enough sense to refuse such an order.” He took more wine. “Truthfully, I don’t know what became of–” He stopped abruptly, not wanting to discuss what could have happened to Robb’s corpse to the grieving widow. 

“Then no one knows,” Rhaenys said softly. “Ramsay Bolton had said that the Freys beheaded both Robb and Grey Wind, and sewn the wolf’s head onto Robb’s neck.”

Tyrion cursed, sputtering on his wine; droplets of dark red spotted his white shirt and brown surcoat. “Not even Joffery could have thought of something so cruel,” he rasped. “The most I heard was that he was thrown into a river–” He cursed again, placing his wine upon the parapet as if to stay further words.

“A _river_?” Rhaenys repeated in anguish, thinking of how her father had died in a river, underneath the waters for days until Jon Arryn’s men found and burned him and sent the ashes to Dragonstone. Tyrion opened his mouth, but she raised her hand to stop him. “What does it matter? Robb is dead. If there is a truth, I don’t want to know it.” 

Tyrion bowed his head. “I am sorry.”

Rhaenys breathed deeply, swallowing as a sob rested in her throat. “You said Varys convinced you to enter my service?”

“Well, he wanted me to decide if the world was worth fighting for,” he replied, almost mockingly. “This same terrible and cruel world.”

“What did you decide?”

“I’ll let you know once i’ve slept away this wine.” He took the empty decanter and cup, bowing on drunken feet. “Pardon me, Queen Rhaenys.”

As he stumbled away, Rhaenys wistfully stared back to the water. Across the Bay of Pentos was the Narrow Sea; across the sea was Westeros---home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 50 OMFG


	51. the girl with sunlit (dragon) eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The east wind, seems to be blowing east. For now.

Tyrion Lannister stumbled into his bed, half-drowned in wine and sorrows, too worn and heavy-headed to call for the Lyseni girl. He was smuggled across the Narrow Sea with nothing but his misery---he didn’t need any of the Targaryen’s. Nor did he need his father’s crimes to haunt him as if they were his ghosts to be frightened of. The tragedies that had befallen Rhaenys Targaryen had all been Tywin’s foul work; the betrayal to her house, the death of her mother and brother, the death of her child and husband--that was all the doing of The Great Lion of the Rock.

Tywin Lannister, The Great Lion. Tyrion would have laughed if he was certain it wouldn’t have made him sick on his sheets. What Great Lion sent knights to murder a mother and her children in their beds? What Great Lion roused a man to break guest right at his daughter’s wedding in such an unthinkable way? 

Tyrion once thought Jaime the Great Lion-- noble and heroic, unknowingly defying their father’s order and saving a little girl from an untimely and bloody end. But Jaime was his father’s son, and he was a cruel liar. _She was no whore. I never bought her for you. That was a lie that Father commanded me to tell. Tysha was... she was what she seemed to be_. What she seemed to be; a sweet girl who truly loved Tyrion.

And Cersei, a woman about as gentle hearted as King Maegor, who made certain that Tyrion lived a hell for killing their mother--her mother, as she often said. A jealous woman, above all. Jealous of Margaery, for stealing Joffery’s heart and favor, and well enough, her crown. Jealous of Sansa, for shielding herself within an unbreakable armor of courtesy and grace. Jealous of Rhaenys, for flourishing in spite of her gory past and family name.

Tyrion rolled onto his side, allowing the evening’s wind to rush through the open window and sweetly graze his rosy face. Through the slits of his half-closed eyes, he saw the darkening sky, the new moon and the stars already dotting the heavens. Rather that marveling at the stars, as he had always done as a boy, Tyrion was fixated on the light of the setting sun.

His cousin Lancel once had the mishap of offending Robb Stark during Robert’s feast at Winterfell; a drunken remark about his wife’s eyes. _All Dornishmen are snakes, and the Martells are the worst of them_ , Lancel uttered to anyone who listened; only their other cousin Tyrek laughed. _Even the Targaryen isn’t without exception-- wickedly black-eyed like the rest of them_. Before Tyrion could reprimand the idiot for speaking ill of the future Lady of Winterfell, the future Lord had the pleasure. Robb Stark had drew near enough, suddenly and without warning like any wolf, inches from Lancel’s face. _My wife_ , he said, as low as a growl, _has sunlit eyes, more golden and honeyed than any mead. I can drink myself senseless in those eyes_. He glared at Lancel. _A man like you will have to settle for tar rum_. As the Stark turned his back on the Lannisters to return to his lady, Tyrion raised his goblet in his direction while Lancel turned red with chagrin.

Tyrion had heard that Rhaenys watched her doting husband die. He supposed that in the light of her survival, it was the only thing left to be true. She shared the same look that heartache had given Sansa after watching her father lose his head; haunted and vulnerable. But while Sansa had her courtesy, Rhaenys had her anger.

As the sun finally disappeared for the night, Tyrion turned to stare at his bed’s canopy, sheer silks of soft blue. Varys had given him a choice; drink himself to death in the comforts of the Pentosshi’s palace, or help ensure that Rhaenys Targaryen was crowned and seated on the Iron Throne.

 _I know my sums, Lord Varys_ , Tyrion told him, as they stood at the edge of Illyrio’s garden, watching the Bay of Pentos. _I know three dragons would serve a queen better than one. Why not seek out Daenerys, with her armies of freed slaves, Dothraki Screamers, and half-grown dragons?_

 _Because what does Daenerys know of Westeros?_ Varys had replied. _What does she know of the lands and the people? But Rhaenys, she grew up among them, called them her friends, family, and allies. The North is hers, reclaimed within her own sight. Dorne would crown Rhaenys over Daenerys a thousand times over. Most of the Riverlands would surely come to her aid if she called for it. If Theon Greyjoy is indeed traveling with her, then he would have pledged the Iron Islands to her. Even Stannis Baratheon was whispered to have bent the knee to her--imagine that! Daenerys may have conquered Essoi cities, but Rhaenys has all but reconquered her country._

Perhaps Varys was merely looking for convenience; after the months of war and conspiracy, Tyrion couldn’t fault him for that. Yet, he also couldn’t help if that Spider was right.

 _Then why bother to send the poor girl to Meereen to her meet with her aunt?_ He wondered. _She could instead be bleeding Lannister and Tyrell men during that very precious time._

_Because, Tyrion, Daenerys is a woman who has survived assassins, conspiracies and sorceries. A woman who has grieved for a brother and a husband and a son. A woman who trods the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her feet. Does she sound like a woman who would so easily surrender her claim?_

_I would guess not._

_A meeting between the last Targaryens may seemingly end in many ways...yet I fear it shall only end in two._

_And what two ways would that be, Lord Varys?_

_Fire and blood, my dear friend. Fire and blood…_

\---

Beneath her thin coverlets Rhaenys tossed and turned, her night’s rest strewn with nightmares and memories. The memories had come first, in a sweet brume between sleep and wake, and from another side of a river.

_Three days away from the Twins and at the outskirts of the Neck, the northerners had made their encampment for the night. On the bed, Rhaenys had been lying naked on her belly, writing a letter to Arianne. At a table, Robb was examining a map of the Riverlands; ever so often, he would glance up to look at her. Finally, she heard him sigh. “You’re distracting me,” he said, in mock accusation._

_Rhaenys looked up from her letter. “Am I?” she replied, as innocent as a maid, rolling the quill’s stem between her finger and thumb._

_“You most certainly are,” Robb smiled. He allowed the thoughts of war to rest for the night as he wandered over to her. Rhaenys left her letter be, watching her wolf coyly as she sat upright. “You have a river to cross,” she reminded him, as he sat the edge of the bed. Robb gently swept a cascade of loose curls behind her shoulder and skimming his fingertips along her shoulder and neck. “In three days time,” he replied, placing a light kiss between her eyes._

_Another twinge of fear nested within her chest. What happens on the fourth day? And the fifth and sixth? Rhaenys shifted herself onto his lap, caressing the lines of his jaw as she kissed him. Robb returned her fervor, wolfish and just as urgent. His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat as he reached to entangle her dark hair in his fingers. “Once we cross the river, nothing is certain,” he murmured, resting his hand at the small of her back. He broke the kiss to gaze upon her face. “Gods know how many days i’ve left with you.”_

_“More than any god could count,” Rhaenys said willfully, gripping at his shirt. “I’d fight the Stranger for you, bare-breasted and knife to knife.”_

_“No, don’t say that,” he beseeched, touching her forehead with his. “You’ve enough trysts with death--live until you are old, my love, when your hair is the white of dandelions…”_

_Then the memory turned into a dream and the dream turned sour. Everything lurched and she was thrown into a frigid dark river. When Rhaenys emerged from the waters, clambering to the shores, she noticed that the cold did not feel bitter against her naked skin. She looked down at her skin and self; patches of her flesh was dark grey and scaled. For a moment, she thought it greyscale or blackfrost until she noticed the flecks of dark blue. “Sonaral?” Rhaenys called. At once, a dragon sang, a cry more larger and terrible than she expected. She looked to the darkening sky to see her dragon babe, now monstrous in size. Sonaral landed before her, and purred. Rhaenys held her hand out, seeing how small she was in the reflection of Sonaral’s ice-flint eyes. When she caressed the dragon’s snout, scale meeting scale, Rhaenys knew she was anything but small. Sonaral bowed her head, allowing Rhaenys to climb onto her back, and they flew…_

_They flew across the sea, over deserts and mountains of red sand and stone. The arid lands soon gave way to rolling hills and leas of green, lands dotted with wildflowers of pink and yellow. When they came to a lacework of rivers, Sonaral came to rest before a crossing, where the river’s waters flowed steadily. Rhaenys leapt from the dragon’s back, the trodden grass soft beneath her bare feet. Among the rocks that lined the river’s shore, something blood-red glinted in the setting sun’s light; a ruby._

_Rhaenys' flesh was no longer dragonscaled; it was soft and dusky once more. She looked around, wondering why Sonaral brought her here. As if an answer to her query, a beast appeared at the other side of the river and started for her, bounding across the water with graceful steps. Its fur was the dark of smoke, its yellow eyes soft at the sight of her._

Before Rhaenys could cry out for the wolf, she woke-- his name was still on her tongue, along with her question: _is he with you?_

\---

Dressed in the Braavosi garb and with her dragon at her neck, Rhaenys strode to where a slave girl said Varys and Tyrion were. They were sitting in one of the lush gardens, accompanied by Illyrio and Lord Connington. As soon as she walked out to them, the dragon shrilled and the four men turned to face her. “It seems that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone.” Rhaenys said, before any of them could speak first. “If you are all who you claim to be, then I will hear you out, for the sake of my crown.”

She was quick to command a presence, be it by the dragon curled around her neck, the dark storm in her eyes, or the iron in her voice. Tyrion watched as Rhaenys was mantled in the morning light. The sun reached her eyes, and he finally saw the eyes that Robb Stark loved so much. They shown with a venom, rather than honeyed mead; men had downed the sun, only to raise a dragon. Tyrion dared to draw closer to her as the dragon started to screech, to look upon her face properly.

“Lord Tyrion, did you ever make your decision about the world?” Rhaenys asked. There was nothing malicious about her, as she spoke to the Lannister; only curiosity and a strange wiliness to listen.

“I have,” Tyrion Lannister replied, with a voice so wholehearted that not even Rhaenys could have ignored it. “And I know you want a better one. How could you not, after all you lost to this one? I've been a cynic for as long as I can remember. Everyone's always asking me to believe in things-- family, gods, kings, myself. Yet, I can bring myself to believe in the better world where you reign. I can believe in you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post this last week, but my computer hasn't been cooperating (the charger stopped working, and the battery had died). It miraculously started working again, for now.


	52. the iron captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anything could happen on the road to Meereen.

“I hope Your Grace will pardon me,” Tyrion announced, a faint smile upon his lips. “Your king is trapped. Death in four.”

Rhaenys continued to study the pieces intently and placidly. Cyvasse, the game was called. It had traveled across the Narrow Sea on a Volantene trading galley-- the orphans of the Greenblood had spread it up and down their river, and the game was rather popular in the Dornish courts. When Rhaenys was no more than seven, Doran had taken her on his knee to explain the pieces and their movements. _“I like the dragon!”_ She had exclaimed, taking the onyx dragon piece from the board. Her uncle chuckled. _“The most powerful piece of them all– a wise choice.”_ Cyvasse never made it up the White Knife, and Rhaenys never had the chance to learn the game properly–-until that day, when Tyrion plopped the wooden board in front of her. “A friendly game of war,” he declared. “That ought to whet our sanity while we are trapped aboard this shipwreck.”

The “shipwreck” was a poleboat called the _Shy Maid_ , an ugly old ramshackle with a large lateen sail. It was thankfully large enough to hold Rhaenys' company of herself, Lord Connington, Tyrion, the Greyjoys, Lord Velaryon, and two of the knights. The rest had taken the _Sea Wolf_ back to Westeros, sailing to Dorne to relay Rhaenys' plans of retaking Dragonstone--the revelation to Westeros the she was alive.

Perhaps the saving grace of the _Shy Maid _was her captain and master, Yandry, and his wife, Ysilla. Both were orphans of the Greenblood who had returned home to Mother Rhoyne. _“She is the greatest river in the world,”_ Yandry had said solemnly. Tyrion thought it all old-world fallacy, but Rhaenys grew up with tales of the Rhonyne, the giant turtles known as the Old Men of the River, and the water-woven magic the Rhoynar and even Queen Nymeria were said to have wielded.__

__With the movements of her heavy horse and her dragon, Rhaenys annouced “I believe your king is dead, my lord.” Despite losing to a novice, Tyrion smiled, flicking his king piece over in defeat. “Another king fallen,” he agreed._ _

__From his seat near the prow, Theon gave a startled cry; a massive horned turtle broke the water’s surface, its eerie black eyes gazing up at him. “An Old Man of the River,” Ysilla said reverently. “You look a good god in his eyes, boy.”_ _

__Tyrion snorted quiety, rearranging the cyvasse board. Rhaenys plucked her wooden dragon from its square. Her own dragon had been perched upon the mast, stretching her frost-blue wings out. Sonaral had grown to the size of a small hound, too heavy to rest upon Rhaenys' shoulders. Her flame had grown as well; a stream of red and bright yellow, with a tinge of blue at the edges. Tyrion suspected that the open air and freedom was what allowed the dragon to have grown so quickly._ _

__“Varys knows that Daenerys wouldn’t abandon her claim. What does he expect me to do then?” Rhaenys asked, skimming her thumb along the carved and snarling face._ _

__“You both seem to bloom from the same vine; orphaned, widowed, childless, brotherless, the very last of your name," Tyrion replied, glancing up from the board. "I may not care much for family, but i’m sure Daenerys will. You’re all she truly has left."_ _

__A family. By the sparse graces of the gods, Rhaenys still had hers--the wolves of Winterfell and the vipers of Sunspear. Who did Daenerys have left? She felt a twinge of pity for her aunt. “I'm more than willing to make her my heir, and being her home to Westeros," she announced. "I hope that's enough to quell her desires of ruling."_ _

__"Your heir?” Tyron echoed, his brow furrowed. “You’ve no plans for a consort?”_ _

__“No,” Rhaenys replied coldly, placing the dragon back to its rightful place. She had no wishes to repeat the words she spoke back in Winterfell. “I hope you'll understand that better than Lord Baelish did.”_ _

__“Your Grace,” Tyrion started, perhaps foolishly. “If I may–”_ _

__“No, you may not.” She rose, looking down upon him with sudden venom. “You want to advise me, Lord Tyrion? Do as much as you like, but _never_ tell me to wed again.” _ _

__Tyrion stood as well, his shadow long behind him and his expression calm. “Grieve until your heart is stone and your hands are cold. But I promise you, Your Grace, once you are crowned before the eyes of Westeros, lords will line your halls and courts, all vying for a place in your bed.”_ _

__“They will know nothing but failure and the breath of my dragon!”_ _

__As Rhaenys walked away, she heard the dwarf sigh. Ignoring him, she climbed a short ladder to sit atop a cabin roof, to watch the Rhoyne’s waters ripple behind the poleboat. But the _Shy Maid_ was hardly a galley, and Rhaenys could still hear Tyrion as he spoke to Lord Connington: “I tried to remain civil about your demands of sobriety, but as of this moment you’re doing me an unkindness.”_ _

__“Why, because your queen refuses to listen to you?”_ _

__“Lord Connington, there will always be a nobleborn crone or idiot trying pushing a son into her path," Tyrion replied irritatedly. "When the years past and the cradle gathers dust, it will only grow worse and so will the doubts. Westeros has never had a reigning queen--the last she needs is doubt."_ _

__Sonaral flew from her perch to Rhaenys, crooning softly as if sensing her growing sorrow. Rhaenys closed her eyes to stay her anger, willing away the beauty of the Rhoyne for the dark place behind her eyelids. She had no desire for another husband; why wouldn’t they understand that?_ _

__But what if Daenerys declined her offer of becoming her heir? It was very likely. Would Rhaenys be so foolish as to leave the realm without a successor, and surely to the mercy of another war of kings? She opened her eyes to the sunset upon the river; the sky was painted with paling oranges and pinks, the last of the sunlight throwing flickers across the water. Sonaral purred, bunting her head against Rhaenys’ hand. Rhaenys pressed her lips into a hard line, skimming her fingertips along the dragon’s head while heeding the horrors that would haunt her after she was crowned._ _

__"They say my father was born in grief," she said to the dragon, her voice small. "Dare I say that you were no different?"_ _

__—_ _

__After many days along the Rhoyne, the _Shy Maid _finally entered Volantis. It was said to be the oldest and proudest of the Nine Free Cities, as well as one of the greatest, richest, and most powerful. But for now, the city seemed to have been taken in a drunken stupor. As the poleboat sailed under an ancient stone bridge, and towards the mouth of the river at the Summer Sea, they watched as sailors and soldiers and tinkers took to the streets, dancing with nobles and fat merchants. All the Volantene seemed to talk loudly about was the gold and gems and slaves that were sure to flood into Volantis once that dragon queen was dead. “What qualms would they have with Daenerys?” Rhaenys wondered, as the _Shy Maid_ came to a quay.___ _

____“Her reputation of breaking chains, I would think,” Lord Connington replied. “No slaves, no gold, and many slaves of Essos come from Meereen."_ _ _ _

____At the furthest end of the port, at least a hundred ships were anchored, their inky-black sails rippling in the wind. Rhaenys' heart fell as she saw the dark yellow kraken emblazened upon everyone of them. Theon looked grimly to his sister. “It would seem Uncle Euron is closer than we thought.”_ _ _ _

____“It wouldn't be him,” Asha said, gazing out at the Iron Fleet. “Even he knows that leaving the Pyke now would be foolish. It has to be Victarion." The younger brother of Balon and Euron Greyjoy. He had been holding Moat Cailin after the ironborn invaded the North; Robb was certain he would’ve tried to claim his dead brother’s throne. But Asha had mentioned that Victarion had long returned to the Iron Islands, to join Euron instead. _“Victarion would sooner serve the Iron Islands in motley than a crown,”_ she had said. _"A great grey bullock with neither wits or ambition.”__ _ _ _

____“Does Victarion want us dead?” Theon asked wearily._ _ _ _

____"He bears us no ill will, brother-- unlike our other uncle."_ _ _ _

____Tyrion joined then at the crowding prow, tracing their grim look to the enormous fleet. “I wager all the gold at Casterly Rock that he too sails to Meereen.”_ _ _ _

____“He’s brought the fleet this far,” Lord Velaryon agreed. “He could only mean to pledge it for Daenerys."_ _ _ _

____“Then it would seem that we've found our passage,” Asha said. She leapt onto the dock immediately, eyeing the Iron Fleet with a newfound hunger. Rhaenys bidded the knights to remain aboard the _Shy Maid_ and keep an eye on Sonaral. The dragon was already drawing too much attention. “There!” Asha said suddenly, pointing out a longship with a battering ram carved in the likeness of a leviathan. “ Victarion's _Iron Victory_.” Before anyone could say anything, she began to stride boldly in the direction of her uncle’s ship. _ _ _ _

____“Wait!” Rhaenys hissed, matching the Greyjoy’s pace and grabbing her wrist. “Why be so quick to trust him?”_ _ _ _

____“Because he despises Euron,” Asha said. “With good reason to." She gently pulled her hand from Rhaenys’ grasp. "If I can convince him to take your side instead of Daenerys', the most powerful fleet in Westeros is yours.” The rest of their companions gathered behind them, taking in Asha’s proposal._ _ _ _

____"I would not frown upon an addition of the Iron Fleet," Tyrion spoke. "Considering how little they were touched during the earlier days of the war."_ _ _ _

____If Theon shared his sister’s confidence, he made no show of it. But Rhaenys trusted both Greyjoys--enough to allow Asha to lead them to their uncle's ship._ _ _ _

____"What reason does Victarion have to hate his own brother?" Rhaenys asked Theon._ _ _ _

____"Euron took his wife and left a bastard in her belly," he explained, his skin pale. "Victarion was furious and beat her to death to keep his honor."_ _ _ _

____\---_ _ _ _

____The port was crawling with ironborn, perhaps the most that Volantis had ever seen. In the midst of them all, Asha had no trouble picking out her uncle._ _ _ _

____Lord Victarion Greyjoy was a large man, with a bull’s broad chest and a boy’s flat stomach. His black hair and beard was flecked with grey. Despite being at sea, he wore full plate armour; like many devout ironborn, Victarion had no fears of drowning. He was standing close to his ship like a powerful and menacing shadow._ _ _ _

____“Hello Uncle!" Asha called out boldly._ _ _ _

____It was an all too familer look that Victarion gave his niece and nephew–-bewilderment to the point of disbelief. " _Asha?_ " He abruptly broke his conversation to one of his men and walked over to them. His next words were very familer as well: “I thought you were dead. Both of you."_ _ _ _

____“To Euron’s grief, we are not," she replied airily. "And to add to his grief, we've much to discuss."_ _ _ _

____"Do we now?" Victarion grunted, his dark gaze sweeping over the rest of them._ _ _ _

____"Yes, we do. I believe you, Uncle, have been sailing to meet the wrong queen."_ _ _ _

____He snorted with laugher. "Have you spent your exile drunk on seawater, Asha? There is no queen but the one in Meereen."_ _ _ _

____Then Rhaenys spoke, low enough for Victarion to hear. "My name is Rhaenys Targaryen and you are quite mistaken, my lord."_ _ _ _

____\---_ _ _ _

____Victarion took them aboard his ship, to a sunlit cabin that served as his command room. A pale yellow kraken had been painted delicately upon the dark wood of the longtable, but the color had flaked and peeled in some places. Victarion took his seat at the head, gesturing for the others to sit. "This changes many things," he grunted, as Rhaenys sat next to Asha, who sat at her uncle's right. "Euron's plans perhaps the most of all." He seemed glad at the very thought, and that heartened Rhaenys. If even half of what was said about him was true, then Victarion would be easy to win over--A great brute, but still obedient and dutiful to a fault._ _ _ _

____"What plans?" Theon asked, settling in the seat across from his sister. "He has the Seastone Chair--what more does he want?"_ _ _ _

____"He wants Daenerys Targaryen," Victarion said. "He wants Westeros."_ _ _ _

____"He wants to be King on the Iron Throne," Tyrion sighed. "Well, he wouldn't be the first."_ _ _ _

____Rhaenys set her hands upon the table, lacing her fingers together. Euron Greyjoy's claim was nothing. She vowed to bleed him just for calling himself the King in the North, and she'd every intention to do so. "Euron is no man's notion of a king," she said, repeating the words that Robb once spoke to his bannermen at Hag's Mire._ _ _ _

____Victarion gave her a crooked smile in return. "Neither were Aerys or Joffery, yet they both wore crowns. My brother sent me east to bring his bride to him, but I have long vowed to myself to drink his sweet wine, to take all that he holds dear. I brought my Iron Fleet across these waters to steal this woman for myself."_ _ _ _

____Rhaenys was now fairly certain that this man and his brother were drunk on delusion._ _ _ _

____"A brotherly feud, then?" Lord Velaryon asked, with a slight of amusement. "Fighting over the woman who is said to be the most beautiful in the world?"_ _ _ _

____"Vengeance," Asha realized. "All this for vengeance, for a woman you killed-- your own wife."_ _ _ _

____Victarion cursed. "She gave me horns. I had no choice!" He spat. "I would have killed Euron too, but Balon would have no kinslaying in his hall, so he sent him to exile. But I would have beaten him raw and red and fed him to the crabs, the same as I did her!"_ _ _ _

____"Euron killed Father," Theon insisted. "Kinslaying means nothing to us, not anymore."_ _ _ _

____Victarion looked to his nephew with such a vehemence, that Theon flinched. "You think to slay that man, boy? Lord Baelor Blacktyde refused to bend the knee to Euron--do you know what happened to him? Euron had him cut into seven pieces. He'd make a shark's supper of you in little time."_ _ _ _

____Theon clenched his fist, either in anger or to stay their shaking. "Euron will never even see the Iron Throne! He seeks a crown with Daenerys' hand, but she is not the true heir."_ _ _ _

____"Her then?" Victarion asked, gazing at Rhaenys. "I thought you slain and skinned along with the Young Wolf. You think yourself the rightful queen?"_ _ _ _

____Rhaenys leaned forward, to look into his heavy grey eyes. "I know I am. And we'll have plenty of time to discuss that on the way to Meereen."_ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been awhile, hasn't it???
> 
> My laptop decided to die during midterm, and also there was a hurricane. 
> 
> Hopefully, i'll have my computer back this week and I can be happy again.


	53. the blood of the dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So long as I remember, Westeros will never forget!"

It was said that Volantis thirsted for war.

Rhaenys stood at the prow of the _Iron Victory_ , watching vessels from Yunkai rest at the far end of the port. Even in the dying sunlight, she could have easily seen their garishly yellow sails. Yunkish noblemen called the Wise Masters had been sending envoys to the city, seeking aid against Daenerys and her dragons. Perhaps the Volantene would have this war sooner than they expected. 

At Rhaenys' feet rested Sonaral, brought aboard the ship as soon as Victarion decided to allow them passage. He had yet to decide which queen to pledge his cruel axe to, but Rhaenys relented to his incisiveness in her urgency to reach Meereen. However, Asha remained hopeful--there were many leagues and days between Volantis and Slaver's Bay. She still wore a heartened look as she joined Rhaenys at the prow, glad to be aboard a "proper vessel" once more. "The Volantene apple had rolled a fair distance from the Valyrian tree," she remarked. "I doubt Valyria was as stinking as this city."

"Both boasted to be the proudest city in all the world," Rhaenys said. "But Valyria was gone in a day, its people reaping the seeds of fire and blood that they had sown-- Volantis will be no different."

"Not if they agree to send warships to Meereen," Asha agreed.

Sonaral lifted her head, chirping softly as a group of mirthful men left the ship; Tyrion was in the midst of them, sharing a bawdy joke with the ironborn.

"Where are they going?" Rhaenys asked.

"We leave at dawn's light, and this is their last night on land," Asha replied, smirking. "The dwarf has the right idea."

"Well. Lord Connington will not be happy." Tyrion had done well enough without the aid of a bottle, under Connington's scornful eye. Rhaenys didn't think it would have lasted very long anyway.

"Fear not, i'll keep an eye on your counselor. Care to join me?"

"Not this time," Rhaenys replied. She had no care for mead or hollow smiles.

Asha dipped her head, in understanding, before glancing to the forecastle where her uncle had been pacing. "Victorian won't try anything stupid, even if your knights hadn't been on board."

"I'm sure even he isn't dull enough to ignore a dragon's fire," Rhaenys remarked, giving her companion a small smile. "Enjoy your ale, Greyjoy." She watched Asha as she left, the Greyjoy's smile coming easy as she called for her brother to join them. Rhaenys wouldn't have been surprised if he refused her-- he took no joy in mead anymore. She walked along the railing, watching and listening as the Volantene people laughed carelessly and contently; she grew envious of them. 

Rhaenys scowled, turning her back on the piers and streets and the people, and wandering to the forecastle, where Victarion Greyjoy was speaking to a dusky-skinned woman. As she approached them, he spoke softly, as if convinced that the night's wind would have carried his words to a far off and unwanted place. The woman said nothing in return, only watching him dutifully with tawny-colored eyes. She heard Rhaenys' approach before he did, casting her haunting gaze towards her and alerting her lord.

"....My lady," Lord Victarion greeted, still unsure of what to make of Rhaenys. He waved the dusky woman away; she bowed her head, to him and then to Rhaenys, giving the latter a peculiar look. "She was a gift from Euron," Lord Victorian remarked, as Rhaenys watched her leave. "He ripped her tongue out and threatened to kill her if I refused to take her."

Euron. Ramsay. Joffery. Why did the gods allow for such men to have ever lived? "Has she a name?"

"Euron never brothered to ask while she still had a tongue," he sighed. "I've long meant to bleed and offer her to the Drowned God, but I've grown used to her."

"I'm sure she appreciates that." Rhaenys replied dryly. "Do you always treat women so ill?"

"Euron is worse," Lord Victorian grunted. "Even a bold thing like yourself would not survive him." His dark eyes narrowed in the torchlight. "But if Theon spoke the truth, then it's your hand that my brother seeks."

Rhaenys glared up at him. "If he even dares to think to lay a finger on me, then it would be the last time he has hands."

"Keep speaking words of steel and might, girl. They'll only send you to your wolf."

She barked a laugh. "If only, my lord." Had it not been for the Iron Throne, the wolves at Winterfell, and the vipers at Sunspear, then Rhaenys would have found Robb quicker than she had lost him. "But I will keep speaking, Lord Victarion, and let the gods and men decide how to respond." She spared a glance to the dark sea and sky, both meeting at a horizon were it was impossible to tell where one ended and one began.

The Iron Captain said nothing, only watching the seas as Rhaenys did.

\---

The strangest of incidences came before midnight, as Asha and the others returned aboard the _Iron Victory_ with a bellicose man.

"Jorah Mormont," Tyrion announced, naming the stranger as a couple of Lord Victorion's men thew him before their captain and Rhaenys. "He thought to whisk me away from the privy and sell me to the Queen of Meereen."

"I know who are you," Rhaenys said darkly. The former lord and knight of Bear Island was a large and balding man, swarthy from his time spent in Essos. Robb had told her about him, months after she arrived to Winterfell. "You sold poachers to a Tyroshi slaver and fled Bear Island, rather than face Ned Stark and the King's Justice."

Ser Jorah looked up at her, his face ruddy from his encounter with the iron-born; he reeked of ale. "Aye? And what would you know about my crimes, girl?"

"Your name is a blackspot in Winterfell, and the North, ser. No one of House Mormont dares to speak your name."

The knight furrowed his brow and Tyrion snorted impatiently. "Come now, Mormont. You must know who Ned Stark's other ward was-- Varys isn't one to employ stupid spies."

At the moment of realization, Ser Jorah's eyes widened. "Rhaenys Targaryen," he breathed. "Seven hells, I thought you were--"

"Dead. Yes, i've heard it all before." Rhaenys turned to Tyrion. "What do you mean by _spy_?"

"The details are lost on me, but I know your uncle Viserys took this man into his service a couple of years ago. Hoping for a royal pardon, weren't you Mormont?"

"Once," he admitted, his face awash in shame. "Once and without guilt.... but I had long seen sense and pledged my life and sword to Queen Daenerys."

"Regardless of a changed heart, no one likes a spy-- especially one that sells information to her family's murderers--"

"It was that snake, Oberyn Martell!" Ser Jorah spat. "I served Dany loyalty and faithfully! Yet, it was the Martell's word over mine!"

"It was the bitter truth over years of sweet lies," Rhaenys said, glad that her uncle spoke to Daenerys of the deceiver in her midst. "Your past has found you, Ser Jorah. You owe the Starks, the Mormonts, and the North justice for your crimes."

"On whose authority?!"

"Mine-- as Queen of Westeros."

"You?!" Jorah Mormont laughed, gruff like a bear's roar. "The dragon queen in Meereen, she is a true Targaryen-- the true Queen of Westeros!" He wore the smile of a fool, rather than a dutiful knight. Rhaenys only stared back at him, her own slight smile upon her face. 

"Sonaral!" She called out sweetly.

The dragon flew down from a mast, landing at her side gracefully. At the sight of the stranger, she screeched, baring teeth and hot breath. See Jorah's face tuned pallid in the firelight. Asha and even Theon smirked at his shock. "Do you think me Prince Baelor reborn, Ser?" Rhaenys demanded. "Aegon's blood is in me, along with that of Nymeria--I am the blood of the dragon."

She turned to Victorian Greyjoy. "This is your ship, my lord. What will you have of him?"

He gave her a crooked smile. "I've the place for your prisoner." With that, Lord Victarion shouted to his men, to take the drunken fool below deck. Ser Jorah's bravado seemed to have deserted him, as the ironborn dragged him away. Tyrion started to clap, as if in applause. "The North's bane, locked away at last. I'm sure his aunt and nieces can't wait to see him."

"He has some time to wait for justice," Rhaenys sighed. "What did he think to do with you, Lord Tyrion?"

"Oh, to gift me to his beloved dragon queen and bask in her gratitude," he snorted. "But I know a thing or two about the gratitude of kings, and I’d sooner have a palace in Valyria."

"Gratitude is no longer his concern. His days of freedom are done with," Rhaenys remarked.

"An ironic fate, for a man who was once a slaver."

\---

It was said that the sky was always red above Valyria. "It is also said that any man who lays eyes upon that coast is doomed," Tyrion said to Rhaenys, as they looked to the direction of the smoking city.

"Well, i'm not a man," she remarked.

The dwarf chuckled in amusement and Rhaenys continued to narrow her eyes at the grey horizon; she could barely see the faint streak of red, one of the few things the Doom had left behind (along with poisonous smoke and fires--or so the rumors went). The _Iron Victory's_ path was kept a fair distance from the accused Smoking Sea. The sea was said to have been filled with volcanoes and smoking stacks of rock, boiling in places and haunted by demons

Tyrion had mentioned his Uncle Gerion Lannister's quest, and how he had to buy slaves to crew his ship-- half of his original crew had deserted him after learning of his intent to sail the Smoking Sea. The craven crew chose well, for Gerion Lannister had never returned. Asha also spoke of her uncle Euron, and how he claimed to have braved the Smoking Sea and even Valyria; many of men and women of the Iron Islands were skeptical of his boasts.

"I wonder if Lord Jorah is enjoying the view," Tyrion wondered, glancing over to where the man was slumped over, gazing at the sea. Days after the Iron Victory had reached the waters of Slaver's Bay, Rhaenys had him taken from the hold and above deck. Ser Jorah had been quiet since his drunken quarrel in Volantis, and she hoped to speak to him about Daenerys. He had known her longer than her own mother, Queen Rhaella, had, and perhaps better than any others she held company with.

"I spent most of my life in the North," Rhaenys murmured. "And the last man I would have taken him for is a northerner."

"The man is cold, brooding, sullen, deaf to humor," Tyrion mused. "He seems to be a true northernman to me."

Rhaenys sighed, not at all amused. "You've been wrong about northernmen before, my lord."

"Have I now?"

She looked upon the dwarf's face, without humor. "You once said that Starks were hard to kill." 

Rhaenys pardoned herself, walking to where the Mormont had been all morning. His mood hadn't improved, not with clean clothes or with sobriety. Tyrion had been right about his persistent dourness. "My lady." Jorah Mormont greeted her as Lord Victarion still did; only Ser Jorah was adamant that Rhaenys was not the rightful queen.

"We're days away from Meereen," she said, heeding the cold edge in his voice. "I'm days away from meeting my aunt for the first time."

"And you intend to stand before her and demand that she set her crown to the ground."

"I will demand nothing from her, Ser." Rhaenys said calmly. "Why do you assume I wish malice upon her? Daenerys is my father's sister, and I will speak to her as such."

"You will speak to her as your queen."

Rhaenys pressed her lips together. _The stubborn old bear!_ "Don't ask demands of me, Ser. Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar's sister, but I am Rhaegar's daughter." 

The knight looked upon her, his face stony. "Westeros is in chaos, and you wish to squabble for power?"

Was it the Mormont's disgusted tone that boiled her blood? The outrageous idea that Rhaenys was another Robert, another Joffery, another usurper? Or was it his raw notion that she hadn't the faintest idea of what was happening in Westeros? "Do you honestly believe that i'm so naive?!" Rhaenys spat. "You think you know the chaos, Ser Jorah?! I was _there_ , in Westeros, the moment the war drew its first bloody breath! There are children in Westeros that know the damn war better than you and Daenerys!"

For the first time upon speaking to her, Ser Jorah truly paid her heed, furrowing his heavy brow as her outburst broke the stillness. In the long and cursed shadows of Valyria, a Targaryen spoke with an anger that would have brought the gods to their knees. 

"I don't care what you think of me, or my claim. My wolf was bled right before my eyes because he made a queen of me! Do you think I'll forget that so easily, Ser Jorah?! So long as I remember, Westeros will never forget!"

And she turned her back to him, walking away before he could see the glint of tears in her dark eyes. Ignoring the concerned gaze of Lord Connington, Rhaenys returned to the railings, gripping at them as she found the strange red skies of Valyria once more. She wanted her own Doom, a tempest of fire and a deluge of darkness-- a faithful reminder to the world of her broken heart. 

And by the gods, she would have it.

\---

From the prow of the _Iron Victory_ , they gazed at the monstrous pyramid that towered over the city of Meereen like a mountain. Other pyramids were scattered around it, but paled in both size and grandeur. At the top of the great pyramid rose a bronze harpy; draped along its outstretched wings was a great black banner with a red three-headed dragon.

"Impressive palace," Tyrion remarked.

Rhaenys said nothing, only staring at the Targaryen banner flying proudly; she suddenly felt small. She looked to Lord Connington, his own expression stern. "Why do I feel as if _I_ were the lost begger, coming to my aunt's door?"

He looked upon her, his flinty gaze slightly warmed. "Remember who you are, my queen," Lord Connington replied quietly. "Forget the sights before you, and know who _you_ are. Your dragon knows--do you?"

Rhaenys took a heavy breath, looking to Sonaral who was perched upon the twisting back of the battering ram--her dark-silver scales glinted like stars in the sunlight. Rhaenys bethought the dream she had back in Pentos, where her naked flesh and hands were the same dark-frost of her dragon's scales. _Know who you are_... 

"I am the only dragon you need," she answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ser Jorah, why you do this?


	54. the dragon queen of meereen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The daughter and sister of Rhaegar meet at last.

The queen's audience chamber was a splendid hall of stone and marble; milky white, with pale greys and pale purples. The ever-present dusk of inside the Great Pyramid was interrupted by a row of windows cut into the walls. Despite the sunlight spilling upon the tiles and walls, the hall was oddly chilly. Tall candles burned amongst the pale purple marble pillars, casting eerie glows and shadows. Unsullied guards stood with their spears, their backs against the marble pillars.

Sat upon a plain bench of ebony was Daenerys Targaryen.

She was breathtakingly beautiful; delicate and dreamlike, with skin like porcelain, hair like spun silver, and eyes of pale violet-- the blood of Valyria ran thick through her veins. After a handmaiden introduced the guest, masking her own confusion, the Queen of Meereen stood from her modest throne and started down the broad marble stairs. The sight of the small dark silver dragon had been enough for her brow to furrow and for bewilderment to etch upon her face; now her supposed niece stood tall and alive before her. Daenerys spoke to her handmaiden, telling her to seek out Prince Oberyn. If anyone could swear that the woman before her was Rhaenys Targaryen, it would be him.

Rhaenys had entered the chamber alone with her dragon, leaving her company waiting beyond the heavy doors; she dearly wanted her first encounter with Daenerys to be her own. She kept to the foot of the stairs, looking up at her nervously. Her aunt was dressed in a gown of blue and white, embroidered to resemble dragon scales. The pleated white skirt gracefully skimmed the stairs as she walked. Compared to this dragon queen, Rhaenys must have favored a sea-blown drab in her Braavosi and travel-worn skirt, shirt, and boots. 

A newly wedded queen at that, as Rhaenys and her companions discovered after the Iron Fleet landed at the port of Meereen--she had recently taken a Ghiscari nobleman for her king, and the Meereenese enjoyed the peace and looked ahead to prosperity... 

Daenerys stood short compared to Rhaenys, causing the latter to gaze down to meet the amethyst eyes--Targaryen eyes. Even Rhaegar's eyes hadn't been such a color.

"If you aren't who you claim to be, then you are cruel to imitate a dead girl," Daenerys said.

"Oberyn Martell will settle your concerns," Rhaenys replied, her heart swelling at the thought of seeing him again. "Though, I wouldn't risk the wrath of the Red Viper by pretending to be his dead niece." At her side, Sonaral chirped; she stood as tall as a small child, her gaze protective as she looked to the Unsullied and their spears.

"Where did you find this dragon?" Daenerys asked, casting her intense gaze to Sonaral. "I thought my three to be the only in the world."

"I found her egg beneath a castle I called home... she found life when I offered mine to a red priestess' fires." Daenerys' brow furrowed, and she quickly looked back into Rhaenys' brown eyes. "Had it not been for my father's blood, I wouldn't have survived," Rhaenys continued. 

"Fire cannot kill a dragon," Daenerys murmured. "Could you really be--"

The hall's doors were thrown open and Oberyn Martell rushed in, desperate to see if the handmaiden's words about a woman claiming to be his niece were true. Rhaenys turned around and felt the bony claws of grief loosen from her heart. Her uncle appeared just as she last saw him, albeit with a few more silver streaks in his dark hair. She felt like a little girl in Sunspear again, running to her uncle because she had skinned her knee. Rhaenys now ran to him for something far worse than a skinned knee.

"Rhaenys!" Oberyn caught her and tightened his arms around her. "My little sun! You're alive!"

Rhaenys tried to speak, but heartache choked her words. Rather than say anything, she took in the safety and warmth from his embrace; gods knew how long it would've been before such feelings left her again. 

"You're really her, then," Daenerys said, her voice hushed. Rhaenys lifted her head from her uncle's chest to look back at her. Suspicion fleeing her, Daenerys' eyes were bright with wonder as she gazed upon her brother's daughter. Oberyn was reluctant to loosen his hold on Rhaenys; he had no choice but to relent--she wasn't only his niece. 

"Rhaenys...please, forgive my doubt," Daenerys said, coming forward and taking Rhaenys' hands.

"There's nothing to forgive, Daenerys" she replied, smiling warmly and embracing her.

\---

Rhaenys' companions were left to explain themselves, as Oberyn quietly and urgently led her from the audience hall to a vacant corridor outside if it; Sonaral clambered with them, determined to not let her mother out of her sight. Lords Connington and Velaryon, along with Asha and Theon, were wise enough to keep from trouble. But Lord Victarion's brutish mind was still fixated on marrying Daenerys, widowing her if it came to such, and Tyrion was a Lannister--enough for Daenerys to kill him where he stood. To make it all less tense, Jorah Mormont was left aboard the Iron Victory as Rhaenys' prisoner, but not without his pleads of seeing his queen again. 

Yet, Oberyn thought Rhaenys dead for months; the least she could do now was listen and try to answer his first question: "what happened?"

"What happened?" Rhaenys echoed bitterly. She asked herself that everyday. "Roose Bolton killed Robb, and I killed Roose Bolton."

Oberyn gazed at her with a furrowed brow. He didn't have any idea of how treacherous Lord Bolton, a man he had ridden into battle with, came to be--and how he became the second man to have died by Rhaenys' hands. Like in her letter to Doran, Rhaenys told a tale of survival, rather than resurrection-- a small lie deemed fair in the dark of the actual truths. Regardless of what she chose to share, it never got easier to tell.

"Your heart had long beat for two," Oberyn said quietly, after she had finished. "I'm so sorry, little sun. Robb was a good man."

Rhaenys said nothing, and she watched a candlelight flicker until her vision turned blurry. Had her heart grown teeth and was determined to devour the rest of her slowly? It had been months since the Red Wedding, yet the wounds still bled as though they were yesterday's. Sonaral crooned softly, bunting her hand with her head. "We won't be in Meereen for long," she finally said. "With or without Daenerys' fealty, i'm going to take back Dragonstone."

"Dragonstone?"

"My way of letting the Lannisters know that's i'm alive," she explained. "And to give them a whisper of what's coming for them."

Her uncle pondered upon her plan for a moment, before reaching to clasp her shoulder gently. "I'm with you, Rhaenys," he said. "Whatever you need; men, ships--"

"What about Daenerys?" Rhaenys asked, placing her hand over his. "Did you not bend the knee and pledge the Second Sons to her?" 

Heavy with shame, Oberyn bowed his head. "I thought you were gone, Rhaenys. Kneeling to Daenerys promised the vengeance I coveted, the war with the lions that we both wanted. Had I known you lived, I would have returned to Westeros to find you."

"I understand, Uncle," she assured him. "But if I can't convince Daenerys to give up her claim, then you can't break your word to her. She'll have your head for an oathbreaker." It pained her to admit such an outcome. Rhaenys wanted her uncle by her side when she returned to Westeros; but Daenerys was still Queen of Meereen, and sworn loyalty to a queen was not something to be discarded so carelessly. Such depravity belonged to lesser men like Tywin Lannister, Walder Frey, and Roose Bolton. 

"Rhaenys, if I have bleed the whole of her Queensguard to leave Meereen then I will do it!" Oberyn remarked. "I will see you on the Iron Throne!"

As the Red Viper reared his head, Rhaenys gave him a small smile. "Uncle, you forget that I spent my girlhood in Ned Stark's castle."

"And you remember where all that honor led him--dead before the Sept of Baelor." He cursed beneath his breath, regretting his blunt words as soon as he said them. "Rhaenys... you are still my niece. To see you alive after moons of thinking you were dead, its enough to make me a godsworn." 

"Don't let it make you an oathbreaker." Rhaenys glanced in the direction of the audience hall. "She trusts you, Uncle."

"Rhaenys, this is a matter of your crown," he sighed. "You're the furtherest thing from a wide-eyed maiden-- this is not a time for honor and other starry tales."

"If the Boltons and Freys kept to their honor, then Robb would still be alive!" Rhaenys snapped. "And truthfully, does Daenerys seem like the kind of woman who would give up what she believes is rightfully hers?"

"I'm afraid she isn't, little sun..." 

"Then this just got a lot more tedious."

\---

Daenerys kept her chamber at the apex of the pyramid, a lofty room surrounded by greenery and fragrant pools. From the terrace garden, she had a view of the entire city and its surrounding area. A lone persimmon tree appeared to serve as a favorite spot for colorful birds; Sonaral quickly took a liking to this tree, gazing at the little twittering things with eager blue eyes. Rhaenys warned the dragon gently, preferring to not watch her swallow once of the precious birds whole. She hadn't seen richly feathered creatures (or a persimmon tree) since leaving Dorne.

"What do you call her?" Daenerys asked, walking through the terrace doors. She had left Rhaenys to the kind mercy of her Dothraki handmaidens, to speak with her husband, Hizdahr zo Loraq. Rhaenys questioned the girls about this king as they brought her a dress and helped to untangle her hair. _He is very rich, and of blood just as rich_ , the girl called Irri told her. _It is known._ The other girl, Jhiqui, added: the Queen married him for peace and duty.  
_She did what I won't._ Rhaenys had thought to herself.

"Sonaral," she replied, raising from her seat at the low brick parapet to properly greet her aunt, careful to not tread on the hem of her dress. The dress given to her was not flimsy as the one gifted to her in Braavos; this one was pale blue, the bodice and waist embroidered to resemble scales, and the shoulders slightly cuffed in a way that reminded Rhaenys of a cobra's hood.

"Winter?" Daenerys asked curiously, beckoning for her come inside the chamber. Rhaenys gave Sonaral one last look before leaving the Meereenese birds to the dragon's mercy. "A strange name, for a dragon."

"I found her egg in the crypts of Winterfell, and winter is a fearsome thing in the North." They sat upon ornately carved chairs of ebony, accompanied with a table just as finely made and laid out wth bowls of fruits and a flagon of wine.

"I long thought the Starks of Winterfell to be traitors to my father's crown," Daenerys said darkly, pouring out dark red wine into two goblets, and giving Rhaenys one. "Prince Oberyn claimed otherwise."

"Our fathers have brought more sorrow upon the Starks than anything." Rhaenys said. "Whatever you were told, they were lies. Ned Stark wanted nothing more to do with Robert or the Lannisters, not after he saw my mother's and brother's corpses, and not after they called for our heads."

Daenerys gazed at her, tracing the brim of the goblet with her fingertip. "My brother said you were sold to the Starks...he was convinced the wolf you were promised to had you locked away until he thought to force himself onto you."

"Viserys must have been absolutely mad," Rhaenys said bluntly, and Danys' eyebrows flitted up in amusement. "From the moment we met, Robb was good and kind to me."

"Did he love you?" 

It was such a simple question, one that Rhaenys could've only answered with a nod. "My sweet wolf...he was his father's son. Sometimes I think he placed my honor before his own." Rhaenys looked down at her goblet, into the red wine. "I never thought I could have loved someone so much." She glanced up. "And you? What of the Dothraki khal?"

Daenerys gave a sad smile, one that Rhaenys knew far too well. "My brother sold me to him for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and...my sun-and-stars made a queen of me." She placed on goblet upon the table. "But you did not come to Meereen to discuss widowhood."

"I came to meet you," Rhaenys said carefully. "To ask why you've chosen to stay here, rather than return to Westeros."

"There is much to learn about ruling," Daenerys replied. "Astapor and Yunkai cannot keep the peace I had hoped to bring. I vowed to bring to order to Slaver's Bay before I left it behind."

"That could take years," Rhaenys remarked. "And what about Westeros?"

"Their time will come," she assured her. "I will avenge our families, and reclaim the Iron Throne. I promise you that, Rhaenys." Daenerys glanced to the persimmon tree where Sonaral was still sitting under. "You offered your life to a red priestess' fires to bring Sonaral into the world...how did you know to do so?"

"...It was the only thing that made sense in that moment. But I knew to be bolder than the fires, or else they would have devoured me."

Daenerys suddenly rose, gesturing for Rhaenys to do the same. "Come," she said. "I want you to meet my children."

\---

Daenerys led Rhaenys down a torch-lit ramp into cavernous and musty vaults, past cisterns, dungeons, and torture chambers. Sonaral crawled behind them, often looking above her head to hiss at the enclosed ceilings. The dragon pit was beneath the Great Pyramid, reminding Rhaenys of the crypts of Winterfell. At last, they came to a pair of huge and forbidding iron doors, the hinges red and cracked with rust. To bind them shut was a chain of thick links. Daenerys spoke to the Unsullied guards, and they deftly loosened the chain.

At once, they were greeted by the sight of a dragon, clinging to the roof of the pit like a huge white bat. His claws were digging deep into burnt and crumbling bricks, causing broken chains to fall upon the pit's floor. Rhaenys looked up at it in wonder; as her eyes grew use to the dim firelights, she saw that its horns, wing bones and crest glinted gold in the flickering firelight. "Viserion," Daenerys said. At the sound of his name, the dragon purred, a more heavy and gritty sound than Rhaenys was used to hearing. 

"You named him for Viserys?" Rhaenys asked.

"A cruel man, but he was still my brother," she replied, "The dragon is what he should have been."

In a darker corner of the pit was a dragon of mossy green, chained and gnawing on a bull carcass. At the sound of the women's voices, he roared and glared at them with bronze eyes, bright as if glowing with their own heat. "Rhaegal," Daenenys murmured. "I named him for your father." At the sound of his brother's yell, Viserion answered. Sonaral joined in, a smaller cry compared to the half-grown ones, attracting the attention of both of them. The entire pit echoed and shook with the song of dragons.

"Where is the third?" Rhaenys wondered.

"Drogon," Daenerys said. "He's hunting."

For a fleeting moment, Rhaenys questioned this; both of the dragons in the pit bore iron collars. By the look of it, Viserion had broken _his_ chains. Why would one be free to hunt and not the others? Her thoughts were interrupted as the white dragon suddenly dropped to the floor, his golden eyes fixated on Sonaral. 

"We should leave now," Daenerys said softly. 

\---

After they left the dragon pit, Rhaenys claimed that she was tired and wished to rest. Daenerys nodded in understanding, offering to show her to the guest chamber on the thirtieth level of the pyramid. Rhaenys politely declined, insisting that she distracted the Queen of Meereen from her duties for too long.

On her way to the great staircase of stone and marble, Rhaenys finally came across the King of Meereen, searching for his queen. Hizdahr zo Loraq, tall and slender, his skin flawless amber and his eyes molten gold. His cropped hair was a strange color, a red so dark, it could have been black. "Daenerys told me her niece had come to Meereen," he spoke, gazing down upon her. "Welcome, Princess."

Rhaenys smiled, as gracious as she could have bared; she hadn't been a princess since she married Robb. "Thank you...Your Grace." 

"Your dearest aunt has brought us into a new era, one of prosperity and hope," Hizdahr continued. "Great things shall come to Meereen." He looked down at Sonaral, who had started to hiss. "Your dragon is more than welcome to join the ones in the pit. It will be properly fed."

"She is still a hatchling. The larger dragons would surely try and pick a fight."

"I will not go against the word of a mother," he smiled. 

Rhaenys bowed her head in respect to this supposed king. "Do pardon me, Your Grace, my journey was a long one." Truthfully, she didn't trust him.

"Rest well, little princess."

 _I am not a little princess!_ she thought indignantly, as Hizdahr dipped his head before leaving her. Rhaenys hastily strode to the stairs, and only made it to the ninth level before a familiar voice called out to her. "Ah, there you are."

Rhaenys looked up to see Tyrion peering down at her. He stood a few steps above her, wearing clean clothes and holding a gilded goblet.

"Where did you get that?" Rhaenys sighed. 

"I asked," he replied, taking a mouthful of what was most likely wine and beckoning for her to sit on the stair with him. 

"We came to this place at a rather trying time," Tyrion continued, as Rhaenys sat next to him; Sonaral had clambered to the stair above them, resting her head upon her shoulder. "The Yunkai are seeking alliances with slaving cities to unite against Daenerys. A host is said to be on their way as we speak. And a little group called the Sons of the Harpy were waging a shadow war in Meereen in protest of the good queen's rule, though they seemed to have stopped since her wedding..."

"How do you know all this?" 

"I drink and I know things." Tyrion said earnestly. "It's what I do best."

Rhaenys sighed, exasperated. "Well, do you know how i'm supposed to tell Daenerys that i'm the rightful Queen of Westeros, and she isn't?"

"Oh? You haven't yet?"

"We haven't even been in Meereen for a day," she said. "Would you really walk up to your long-lost aunt in her own castle and say such a bold thing?"

Tyrion considered this while swilling wine. "The Iron Throne is yours, by law and right. Daenerys will be rogue queen, not you. Say your peace and leave the Queen of Meereen to her olives and harpies. If it helps, Lady Asha plans to steal her uncle's ships if she needs too." He downed the last of his wine, before gazing up at her. "Are you afraid?"

Rhaenys closed her eyes for a brief moment before she nodded.

"Good," he said. "You've been in this game long enough to know how terrifying it is. The only people who aren't afraid of failure are madmen like your grandfather. It's the things that keep you awake at night that help spare you from the long sleep that doesn't end."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write, because high expectations. I hope its close to what you hoped for.


	55. blood and sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Times have changed...and winter is coming."

Rhaenys hadn't even been in Meereen for three days, yet she hated the city as if she lived there her entire life. It was a strange city, with strange gods and stranger men, where grace and glory were earned with whoring and butchery. Daenerys' court did well to veil and perfume the foul world beyond its walls, but there was only so much the Queen of Meereen could do--this was _her_ kingdom after all.

 _I want to go home_ , Rhaenys thought. She sat at a ornate wooden table, resting her head on her arms and staring wistfully at a flickering candle. Outside her window, evenfall came quick, heralding the end of yet another day in Meereen. Her forefinger lingered over the flame as if to touch it. Tyrion had been right about Daenerys' desires for a family, and that made everything worse--it made everything that Rhaenys had come to Meereen for a seeming act of betrayal. Did Daenerys know that Rhaenys' life meant a stronger and better claim? If so, she made a very convincing feat of not knowing, doting on her niece like any wonderful aunt and speaking richly of the times to come when she marched to Westeros and claimed the throne. 

_What was it that Arya said?_ Rhaenys wondered, her heart growing heavy as she thought of her. _The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Arya and Bran…they're alive, they must be, they have to be... Please gods, just bring them home...._

_You think I’m fighting this war so they’ll sing songs about me?_ Robb demanded, arguing with Edmure Tully. _I want to go home. I want the men following me to go home._

It was all they ever wanted-- to go home

Rhaenys blew the candle out, shrouding the room in darkness, and stood up. The new moon peaked out from a cloud at last, illumining the chamber with pale light. She spotted the new gown that was brought for her, reminding her of tomorrow's event-- Daenerys had asked her for company at the fighting pits. The pits were popular places in the slaving cities; those in Meereen boasted to be the largest and most extravagant. Beasts sicced against beasts, men against men, beasts against men, and even beasts against children, dwarfs, or crones. Daenerys ordered them closed forever, putting an end to such savagery, only to open them again to appease the Meereenese people and win their respect.

Rhaenys glanced at Sonaral who had fallen asleep at the open window. Her snout was still spotted with blood from her hunt. Speaking of hunts, Drogon had yet to return from his, and his brothers had yet to be let out. Rhaenys was certain that everyone in the Great Pyramid, except for her and her companions, knew the truth about the dragon's long absence. 

She settled next to her dragon, leaning against the cold stone wall as she caressed Sonaral's head. "You're the blood of Vermax," Rhaenys murmured. The dragon stirred ever so slightly, her eyes still closed in sleep. "His rider was Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Queen Rhaenyra's firstborn son. He was only fifteen when the Dance of the Dragons began, but served his mother well when he flew to Winterfell and successfully treated with Jeyne Arryn, Lord Manderly, and Cregan Stark." Rhaenys remembered the tale well enough, as told by Old Nan. She could also remember the dim twinkle in her cloudy eyes as she spoke of an old pact made between the Starks and the Targaryens during that war. _A princess was promised to House Stark, and she had gone forgotten, until now._ Ten-year old Rhaenys winced with sudden shyness, while her seven-year old betrothed flushed red as if with fever. The rest of the children only looked on, though Theon was the only one who shook with quiet laughter.

"Jacaerys rode Vermax into a battle at the Gullet. Vermax attacked a fleet, but he flew too low and crashed into the sea. Both dragon and rider perished, one way or another. No one was really sure how they died, but it doesn't matter…."

_The world had gone to ice, claimed by winter and ruled over by a frozen hell. Rhaenys was glad for her heavy dress and cloak, but not for the terrible loneliness that served as company. Trees rose tall above her, bare and gnarled from cold and wind. She wandered and wondered, treading the deep snow as best as she could. Dark shadows started to play tricks on her, tempting her to believe that things were hunting her…._

_Then she came to a wall of ice, a towering thing polished like a mirror. Along cracks in the walls, winter roses bloomed and sweetened the air. Rhaenys reached to pluck one, but the sudden and shrill scream of a crow made her flinch. She looked behind her and saw as it perched onto a nearby tree._ Look _it cawed._ Look. _Rhaenys turned back to the wall, and drew in her breath sharply. The tip of her nose had gone black with frostbite, as did patches of skin on her cheek and forehead. Raw red skin cracked and flaked to reveal dragon scales underneath. Silvers of frost were flecked upon her eyebrows and eyelashes, and her lips were dark blue and bruised. Faint blue veins ran along her pallid face like cursed rivers. But her hands didn't even tremble as she softly touched her face._ Oh…

Mine _the crow called, its black eyes glinting hungrily._ Mine.

"I'm not yours."

Dead. _It said cruelly._ Dead.

"I'm not dead," _Rhaenys breathed._ "You're a liar. All crows are liars."

Is that so, girl? 

_The voice belonged not to the crow... but Rhaenys wasn't sure if it belonged to a man either. Her heavy eyes drew away from the miserable bird to the cloaked wraith that had been watching her. It looked like a man, well enough; his skin and hair were milk-white. When he pulled away his smoke-grey hood, she could his eye, the dark of blood. The other was gone, leaving only a hollow socket. Yet, his face and flesh were terrible, like blanched and cracked wood. A weirwood, perhaps. A flock of crows joined their brother, black and awful as sin._ They smell blood and rotting flesh. _Rhaenys thought, as her skin prickled and crawled, burned and bled._ It hurts… _She looked back into the icy mirror; one of her eyes had become frost-blue, bright and otherworldly._ Not my eyes. Robb loves my eyes. _Afraid of her reflection, she looked back to the stranger._ The Stranger. That's who he is. I can see his true face...I must be dying. The crow had spoken the truth. _At once, Rhaenys fell to her knees and huddled close to the wall, glad for the sweet scent of the roses._ Give your kiss and be done with me at last. Make it stop hurting. I want to see Robb again. 

_But the Stranger did not grant her rest. He only watched and watched, like an old white crow in the bare trees. Rhaenys' eyelids began to droop, and she rested her head against the frozen wall; nothing felt cold or warm anymore._ Haven't you grown tired of watching me? You've been doing that since I was a little girl. When you couldn't have me, you began to take everyone I had loved. Now i'm yours to take, and yet you still watch… 

_Then the Stranger asked: How many eyes?_

Rhaenys opened both of hers and saw only the dark of her room. She heard the calm breathing of her dragon, and the flutter of the airy curtains as the breeze stirred them. Her hand quickly went to her face, and the flesh was soft beneath her fingertips. If she looked into a mirror, her eyes would've been the brown she was born with. _How many eyes?_ The Stranger whispered. _How many eyes?_

 _How many watchers?_ Rhaenys thought. _Isn't that why Robb hung the watcher last? To watch the others die? How many men gloated over the crimson banners that shrouded Elia and Aegon? How many Freys watched the slaughter at the wedding? How many watched Robb die? How many eyes?_

\---

When dawn came, Rhaenys bathed and dressed, already weary-- not only from the last night's dream, but for the day's events. 

It seemed like a shame to wear a pretty dress to a slaughter; blue like a dusk sky, shoulders hooded, and bodice embroidered once again to resemble scales. The waist had been cut in a way so that skin peeked through, but not nearly enough to reveal the scar on her belly. Lothar Frey's cut; another reminder of the day-- Rhaenys would finally tell Daenerys why she came to Meereen. _Guilt won't help you now,_ she thought, as her aunt came into her room. Daenerys wore a dress of snow white, a light cloak falling to her skirts. At her neck, she wore a thrice-headed dragon of silver that favored an armor-piece rather than a necklace. Her smile was what hurt Rhaenys the most. 

Daenerys gestured for her to sit, revealing that she came to braid Rhaenys' hair. "Victarion Greyjoy had offered me his Iron Fleet, in exchange for my hand in marriage," she said, deftly weaving strands of black hair. 

Rhaenys swallowed a sigh; Lord Victarion was as staunch as he was dull. "I take it you said no?"

"Had I still been unwed, I would've still refused... but the Iron Fleet boasts a hundred ships. I'll offer him lordship over the Iron Island in place of marriage."

The Pyke belonged to Asha; that was pact they had made, and Rhaenys had every intention to honor it. "Asha Greyjoy is her father's heir. Lord Victarion doesn't even want a lordship." 

"Asha? What about Theon Greyjoy? What's wrong with him?"

"If you ask him, he'll say he isn't fit to rule," Rhaenys replied. 

"What man claims he isn't fit to rule?"

"A man who had made more mistakes than you can imagine, and is afraid of making another one." Rhaenys couldn't see her aunt's face, only aware of her fingers nimbly gathering and weaving hair. 

"Can you trust a man that has made so many mistakes?" Daenerys asked.

"Theon has paid for every one of them, and in this time of enemies, I need my friends."

"And the Lannister?" Daenerys wondered. "I know you came to trust him... else wise you would have gotten rid of him some time ago." 

"Tywin, Cersei and Jaime are the lions you should think to skin," Rhaenys insisted. "Tyrion's fealty has been worthwhile. Back in King's Landing, he served as--"

"Hand of the King," Daenerys finished. "He mentioned that when we spoke." She didn't say anything else, as she completed Rhaenys' braids; two of them, woven to the crown, the rest of her hair falling to her back in its usual loose curls. "You were a queen, once," she remarked. "When Robb Stark made himself king."

"His men named him king," Rhaenys replied. "And in return, Robb swore to be a good king-- and he was."

"Was he?" Daenerys queried. "I don't mean to speak ill of him, but he threatened to tear the realm apart."

"He had no choice!" Rhaenys exclaimed, turning around in her chair to look up at her aunt. "The Lannisters and Baratheons, after all they've done to us, we couldn't just yield and forget."

Daenerys gently placed her hand on Rhaenys' shoulder. "You have a loyal heart, Rhae," she murmured. "I'm grateful for that, and i'm sure those who called you 'queen' did as well." 

A brave heart. A just heart. A good heart. A loyal heart. If Rhaenys was all those things, then how could her chest ring so hollow? 

"Do the northerners still fight for their own kingdom?" Daenerys asked.

"No... they await their queen," Rhaenys answered truthfully.

\---

The Golden Pit was considered a less-than-extravagant fighting pit. It was circular as the arenas were and enclosed with bricks of pale yellow. The flaking gilded gates were guarded by a wooden harpy, its arm and wings spread wide in welcome, to fighters and spectators alike. The King and Queen of Meereen had entered the arena first, to watch as their people entered and paid them grace. "Have you ever been to a tourney?" Tyrion Lannister asked Rhaenys, joining her side and looking up at the gate.

"I have," she replied. In Dorne-- the most memorable hosted by Lord Anders Yronwood, who once mentioned a possible betrothal between her and his son Cletus. 

"Then you know that this will be far worse." 

"I'll leave it to the Meereenese to make a sport out of war."

"I'll leave it to the powerful, to make a sport out of suffering," Tyrion snorted. "The gods, for one--"

"Lady Rhaenys!" Rhaenys turned around to see Victarion Greyjoy, rushing towards them. He was still garbed in his plate armor and chainmail despite the heat. If he did not fear drowning, then that must have meant that he didn't fear drowning in sweat. Theon and Asha had joined him that morning, to survey the ships of the Iron Fleet. As far as Rhaenys knew, Asha was still plotting to steal ships if needed.

"Lord Victarion," she greeted. "Has something happen--"

"Mormont's gone."

Rhaenys' face fell and Tyrion cursed. _"What?!"_

"He's gone," Lord Victarion repeated, as if they didn't hear him. "Last night. One of my men had gone down to give him water and bread, and the old bear attacked him with a nail."

"A crewman of the great _Iron Victory_ was bested by a _nail_?" Tyrion asked incredulously. In truth, he seemed more amused.

Rhaenys held her hand up, to quiet them both. "Mormont is still in the city," she decided. "Hoping to gain an audience with his queen."

"Will you tell her, then?" Tyrion asked.

"Well, I have to! He was exiled from this city for a reason, and I need him alive."

"Connington and Velaryon had returned to the Pyramid, and Theon and Asha are scouring the city," Lord Victarion grunted. "Mormont couldn't have gone far, if you are right." 

As the Greyjoy left to join the search, Rhaenys spat "Seven Hells!"

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I have to commend the Mormont," Tyrion remarked, as he motioned for Rhaenys to enter the pit. "I wouldn't want to be the madman who escapes from Victarion Greyjoy's ship."

The inside of the pit was tiered with the same yellow bricks, forming a bowl-like structure. A small hut where the fighters awaited stood at one side of the arena. At a raised dais of stone and wood, a Targaryen banner hung down, fluttering lightly in the hot wind. Daenerys was already seated next to her king. 

"Ah, Princess," Hizdahr zo Loraq greeted Rhaenys. "I feared you would've left our city without witnessing our great sport." Rhaenys bowed her head as if to heed his words; she was really only hiding her fluster. Before she could've asked Daenerys for a private word, a dozen men armed with swords and axes, ran out into the sandy pit. Some wore armor of worn leather, others no armor at all. It was blood and red sands that the crowds had gathered to see.

"You best sit down, little sun," Oberyn whispered to her, and Rhaenys nearly flinched away in surprise. "The Ghiscari are watching you."

"What for?" Rhaenys demanded, turning to look into her uncle's careworn face. 

"For being another foreign girl in their city." 

Sure enough, as Rhaenys took her place beside Daenerys, she saw the men who bore old names, once called the Great Masters until Daenerys broke the chains off of their slaves. Some of the common people watched her as well, but many kept their eyes onto the fighters, excited to see flesh split and blood spill. Tyrion and Oberyn kept behind Rhaenys, the latter's hand clasped on her shoulder. Paezhar zo Myraq, one of the Wise Masters of Yunkai, rushed to the dais to warmly great the queen, and welcome her niece to Meereen. He stood only five feet tall, and his voice was high like a bird's. "A exciting day, my queen," he squeaked. "Those who live to see the sun set will earn a place in Daznak's Pit for the Great Games."

Daenerys smiled, and dipped her head regally and the Wise Master scurried away. Then she sighed. "I am sorry… " she murmured to Rhaenys. "You came from a war-torn land; the last thing you must want to see is bloodshed."

"It's nothing, Dany. I've seen far worse things."

The dozen man also bowed to Daenerys, before turning their steel to each other. Melees were popular in the North, more so than jousting, but never so dangerous. The men in the pit attacked with a savagery that Rhaenys had only seen on a battlefield, and soon the Meereenese hot air grew heavier with the sounds of steel meeting and men dying. When less than six men were left standing, another six came to prove themselves. And so it went. Daenerys stared with a stony expression, while her husband grew as eager as the crowd. Only Tyrion dared to say something. "It seems that in Westeros, we have vastly different ideas of a good time."

"This is a vital part of the great city of Meereen," Hizdahr replied, glancing down at Tyrion. "What you witness is the necessary conditions for greatness." As he spoke, a man was beheaded by another who must have been half-giant. The head rolled onto the sand, inciting a thunderous roar from the people.

" _That_ is greatness?" Tyrion asked skeptically. "Well then. My father would like you."

Rhaenys kept her hands folded in her lap, doubting that King Hizdahr zo Loraq had ever killed someone. _My good-sister Arya had killed a man_ she wanted to say to this king. _As small as she was, moments before I killed_ my _first. I saw it happen--she ran him through with her little needle. But was that her first kill? I couldn't tell you. My dearest Robb killed his first man, hours before he called banners for war. My last sight of my good-mother was her holding a blade to the neck of girl. I'm fairly certain she had slit that wench's throat before we both died._

Another man rushed out into the pit, his head hidden by a helm. He thrusted his sword into the belly of the man, deftly tearing it out and attacking another. Ever so often, he would glance at Daenerys. Rhaenys didn't think much of it, until her aunt suddenly sat stiff in her seat. Her eyes did not leave the man, who was quick to become the crowd's favorite; compared to the servants fighting on order of their masters, this one held his sword and stance like a seasoned knight "I should have placed gold on him," Tyrion mused.

Daenerys rose from her seat, looking to the fighter as he cut through the rest of the men with ease. When his sword was knocked from his grasp, his fists were just as worthwhile. In little time, only he was left standing in the pit. As the crowds began to roar, he walked to the dais, rather than to the men and women who called for his name in their foreign tongue; the Unsullied guards immediately trained their spears on him as he approached the queen. At last, the man removed his helm--Jorah Mormont. 

"Khaleesi," he greeted Daenerys, looking up at her dotingly and throwing the helm to the sands. Daenerys had neither cruel words for him, or orders to have him killed. She looked to him like a old and lost friend.

"Oh, that's where he's gone to," Tyrion muttered, without thinking. At once, Daenerys turned to him, her violet eyes wide. 

"What do you mean? You _knew_ he was here?"

"Not quite, Your Grace," Tyrion started, but Rhaenys spoke, as she should have done before the slaughter. 

"We found him in Volantis, and he was our prisoner aboard Lord Victarion's ship."

"Your prisoner?" Daenerys repeated. "And you did not think to tell me?"

"You exiled him from your city" Rhaenys replied. "I only meant take him back to Westeros, and have him see justice for his crimes. He wasn't your concern anymore, seeing how he's lied to you--"

" _Lied_?" Ser Jorah demanded, glaring at her. At once, Rhaenys' blood ran cold despite the heat. "Lady Rhaenys, your uncle called me a deceiver, but what about _you_?" He returned his gaze to Daenerys. "Did your sweet niece tell you why she is in Meereen?"

\---

Rhaenys stood at the foot of the marble steps, looking up at Daenerys as she did upon their first meeting. They had been strangers then; now it seemed that they were strangers once more. After Ser Jorah spoke freely in the fighting pit, Rhaenys couldn't call him a traitor because that was no betrayal-- Jorah Mormont was neither friend or ally. He was only a fool, standing to the side of the audience hall with the Unsullied guards. He told, and Rhaenys had no choice but to attest; yes, she was in Meereen to tell Daenerys Stormborn to surrender her claim to the Iron Throne. "Your Grace--" Ser Jorah started.

"You will not speak," Daenerys said calmly, her violet gaze never wavering from Rhaenys. She was hurt. Of course she was; her only living relative had sought her out to wrest the Seven Kingdoms from her name. "I thought you came to Meereen to help salvage our broken house," she said, still calm. "Now you admit that you're here for my crown, for the Iron Throne."

"I should have spoken of it since my arrival three days ago….but I couldn't find the words," Rhaenys admitted. "We are the very last of our House, and I didn't want to spurn you. But Rhaegar was his father's heir, and I am Rhaegar's last living child. The Iron Throne is mine by right."

"You _lost_ that right when you married the Stark."

"The same Stark who named me Queen of All Westeros, in the same hall where his men named him King in the North."

"What right did that wolf have?" Daenerys demanded. "His father was one of the Usurper's lapdogs! Did he think to use you, to take the Iron Throne for himself?"

" _Never!_ " Rhaenys spat. "Robb knew that no king on the Iron Throne would allow for our peace, so he trusted me with the North, with our country!" 

"You are loyal, but not to your own. Do you love only wolves now?"

"Do you fault me for that?" Rhaenys demanded. "Your father kept me and my mother and brother for his hostages in our own home! And where was my noble father when I was hiding under his bed, hiding from a knight sent to kill me? He was days dead from his own folly, but I begged the gods for his return, be it for the night or for an hour, to protect me from monsters. But who protected me from the monsters? It was a lion, then it was a wolf. Soon, it was a pack. Then the monsters found us again, and i'm somehow still here."

"You hold three years above me, yet you speak like a child," Daenerys scoffed. "There are no monsters--only men."

Rhaenys only blinked. "They all look the same to me now."

Her aunt closed her eyes for a brief moment, but Rhaenys didn't dare to look away from her. She knew for certain that Daenerys would never settle for anything less than the Iron Throne. "What do you want, Rhaenys?" She asked. "Truly and more any anything?" What answer did she expect? That of a usurper?

"I want an end to this. I want to go home and mourn my husband properly. I thought to mourn him with swords and warhorns, by watching his enemies bleed and fall--but in truth, I only want to sit by his empty tomb and weep."

"If such are your desires, then perhaps you are not fit to be queen."

"Why, because I loved a man so dearly?" Rhaenys demanded. "I'm not so naive that I would abandon my duty and loyalty to those i've left in Westeros." 

"But you were foolish enough to come to Meereen and ask for me to kneel!" Daenerys said. "Do you think you're the first to love and lose? Do you think I have forgotten how it feels to be afraid? I've sacrificed and lost too much to let a false dragon take what is mine!"

 _False dragon_. The words hurt more than any other that had been thrown to her face-- but Rhaenys continued to stand tall, her spine as straight and unyielding as a spear. She had enough of this. "A queen has to know her country and her people, and you know nothing of Westeros. Yet, had this been a different time, I would have crowned you Queen of Westeros myself. But times have changed...and winter is coming." 

"Those are not our words."

Rhaenys gazed up at her, brown eyes unyielding. "I've long lived by the words of three great houses. Vipers, wolves, and dragons. In the end, they've all got teeth, and i've only just started to bare mine." She curtsied to the Queen of Meereen, before turning her back on her and walking away.

"The queen did not dismiss you," Ser Jorah spoke, just as Daenerys asked: "Where are you going?" 

Rhaenys stopped and glanced behind her shoulder-- Daenerys had risen from her throne, her brows furrowed in anger, but her lips pressed together in dismay. Another tear in Rhaenys' heart, but she long realized that she was not meant for a happy ending-- so she looked into her aunt's violet eyes, and at long last said: "I'm going home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are getting harder to write because i feel to need to not disappoint.


	56. sword or noose (honor or glory)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She deserved better," he decided.

Honor and Glory-- Jaime Lannister had to laugh at Lewys' choice of names. Jaime himself had long made a habit of not naming his horses, as it made it all the more difficult when they fell dead in battle. After leaving Harrenhal, Jaime took to spurring Honor to Castle Darry. The tawny destrier was smaller than Glory, clad in the white and gold of the Kingsguard-- white and gold like his false hand. Jaime had gotten used to the weight of it--yet, the solid gold hand was a bundle of feathers compared to the delicate silver chain that Jaime kept tucked inside his cloak's pocket. 

_Why do you have this?_ Jaime asked, holding up the chain; the tiny sapphire roses glinted in the candlelights. He'd been back in King's Landing for two days, joining Cersei in grief for Joffery. He noticed the necklace on her table, among old letters and empty wine cups, knowing well enough it belonged to a dead girl.

 _Walder Frey sent it with his letter_ Cersei replied, colder than ever. _A token of his word._

They were less than a day's ride from Darry. Jaime thought to ride through the night, but then thought against it. His cousin Lancel had taken lordship over the lands of Darry and married a Darry girl. Such was the reason to have his host feast at the newest branch of House Lannister, but Jaime sought out Lancel for another reason… 

_No... Tyrion was lying to me, thinking to wound me with words._ He'd quash his brother's vile lies by this time tomorrow.

Night had yet to fall, so Jaime stood at the edge of the Trident's shores, a fair way from his camp and men, yielding a longsword with his left hand. Once the camp was cloaked in darkness, he would spar with Ilyn Payne as they've done every night since leaving King's Landing. As Jaime brandished his steel, his mind wandered. It all seemed simple enough--return to Riverrun and lay order to the men still foolish enough to call Robb Stark king. He clenched his remaining hand, hoping to dull the stump's ache. What happens after Riverrun? Would he return to King's Landing, return to his father's contempt and his sister's cold-heart? _I have to... for Tommen and Myrcella. Brienne will find Sansa Stark, and the younger one if such is still possible. I'll return their mother, as mad as she is said to be, to them and expect no gratitude._

Jaime thrusted his sword into the soft soil, then reached into his cloak and drew out the silver chain. He still wasn't sure why he took it. The chain kept its own weight, heavy with the reminder of what shame truly was. _The little girl I saved, she died anyway in a manner just as cruel as the one I spared her from_. Was he supposed to gloat over her long cold corpse, as his sister and father did? The last he had seen her, she had the very same silver chain around her neck, the gentle swell of her pregnant belly outlined through her dress, and the anger of the gods bright in her eyes. _How did she do it?_ Jaime had to wonder. _How could anyone stare hell in its ugly face and still have eyes brighter than the sun?_

_I don't think for a moment you regret saving that girl's life_ Brienne of Tarth had said. _No matter how much you claim otherwise-- not if you're still fighting for your honor._ Jaime's fist closed around the tiny blue roses as he looked out to the Trident's waters. _She deserved better_ he decided and was poised to throw the necklace into the river's depths--until he heard a wolf growl.

\---

The Lannisters' regards. That was what Roose Bolton gave him, just before steel cut his heart. Now Jaime Lannister stood before him, utterly bewildered and very alone. Grey Wind bared his teeth at the Kingslayer, as he had done many times before. Robb Stark had seen the crimson banners, and urged his men to follow and watch them; but he didn't expect Ser Jaime to be leading the host, just as he did not expect to find him by the river. "Run, and the wolf will catch you!" Robb hissed, drawing his sword and wondering how many ways there were to skin a lion. No longer did he have to lament about his failure to kill Jaime after the Whispering Woods; this lion's life was now his to end.

But unlike the Freys or the Lannister bannermen whose necks had all been wrung, Jaime Lannister hadn't any show of fear. Not even as he stared into the heartless flints of Robb's eyes. Perhaps he was more interested in learning how this moment came to be; or perhaps he was foolish to believe that he hadn't any reason to be afraid or culpable."I'm conflicted…is it dishonorable to bear steel against a dead man?" Ser Jaime finally asked.

"Do I look dead to you, Kingslayer?" 

"Truthfully Lord Stark, you've looked better." Jaime's hand twitched, as if he thought to reach for his sword's hilt-- Grey Wind snarled and the Lannister made no further movement. "May I ask how death took one and not the other?" He then asked. A foolish and heartless question to ask. Robb spared no vitriol when he answered: 

"The gods were cruel to spare me, and crueler to take her. But if the gods are crows, then they reap their unkindness." 

"Well, killing me won't bring her back," Jaime retorted, eyeing the drawn sword. "You can line the length of the Kingsroad with corpses, Stark, and it will never bring her back."

"If that's what it took, I would have done it already!" Robb spat. "Do you understand that?!"

Whatever boldness Jaime had been feigning, it was gone in the furrow of his brow. "I heard rumors at Harrenhal, about men being strung up around the Riverlands," he mused. "Only those who shared ties with Freys, Boltons, or Lannisters. It was you all along, wasn't it?"

Robb spoke simply: "they killed Rhaenys."

"Every one of them?" Jaime asked wryly. "How many have you killed, Stark?"

"Not nearly enough."

"How many, then? How many until your vengeance reaches an end?"

"I wouldn't know, Kingslayer," Robb replied maliciously. "But _you_ will know for certain, when you're rotting in hell." 

Yet, the Lannister still did not look frightened, even as he realized that the possibility of a terrible fate drew nigh. "So Robb Stark did die at the Twins," he said. "Even in the heart of war, he was too noble for his own good. You were always your father's son. Why insult his memory like this?"

"Your son murdered my father!" Robb stormed. "You've no right to question me!"

"I've the every right," Jaime remarked. "I'm doing your wife a favor, Stark--"

No sooner did the words leave his mouth, Grey Wind snarled again and leapt at the Kingslayer, knocking the stupefied man to the ground. "Leave Rhaenys be!" Robb spat, as he watched Jaime try to wrest away from the direwolf's bared teeth. "You can't hurt her anymore."

Jaime held up his hand, but not for a plea of mercy; all this time, he had been clutching a silver chain. "Take it!" he rasped.

Robb glared at the lion, thinking it some sort of trick; then he saw the sapphires glint in the sunlight. In the midst of all that rage, something in his heart thawed as he called off the direwolf and reached for the necklace-- a delicate silver thing, dotted with tiny roses of blue. Jaime Lannister stumbled as he stood up, not bothering to brush the dirt from his surcoat; he started to speak again, his voice heavy with regret: "A precious little thing, your wife was. Half a princess and half a scamp at three. Even many in Aerys' Kingsguard couldn't help but take her upon their knee. She laid chase to the hem of my white cloak often enough, and I never could've brought myself to scold her. And she had a little black kitten, Balerion. She liked to pretend he was the true Black Dread of old, but I imagine my father quickly taught her the difference between a kitten and a dragon…"

"Don't you think I know how precious she was?" Robb demanded, fighting back heartache as he grasped the chain tightly. 

"The only ones who know that better than I do are all rotting at the end of a rope." Jaime made no more attempts to seize his sword, which was only inches from his grasp. Instead, he spoke; rather, he repented. "I never thought my father would've try to hurt her, just as I didn't think Bolton would have killed her. I am reviled for my finest act, but forgotten for my most noble. That precious little thing grew to be something all the more greater. I am sorry, Stark...Rhaenys deserved better."

Robb loosened his fingers to look upon the necklace again. He had clasped it around Rhaenys' neck himself, the morning of their last day, kissing her collarbone as he finished. She broke her own somberness, smiling sweetly as he wrapped his arms around her waist and swollen belly. What would he give to feel the warmth of her once more, be it for only a day or even an hour? _But I have nothing left to give. They took everything I had._ Robb closed his fist around the silver chain, looking to the Kingslayer once more; remorse wasn't going to save him now. "Sword or noose?" he asked.

"Oh, I get choice?" Jaime responded dryly. 

"I can either hang you like a criminal, or let you die a knight's death. Maybe I owe you that much, for Rhaenys' life."

"It seems that the Lannisters aren't the only ones who pay their debts."

"Your House had long called for Rhaenys' death!" Robb retorted. "A life for a life, Lannister. Sword or noose?"

The Kingslayer scowled and quickly grasped the hilt of his sword, wrenching it form the soft earth. Yet, his hold on the blade was graceless, as thought he was a green boy wielding a sword for the first time. Robb easily knocked Jaime onto his back, ready to plunge the point of the steel into his throat. The Lannister then shouted:

_"Catelyn Stark lives!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY decided on a faceclaim for Rhaenys: Aiysha Hart.


	57. unbowed, unbent, unbroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've learned my lesson in Meereen. I can't let my heart rule over me."

For the first time, Doran Martell considered himself a weak man. A feeble old prince confined to his throne, betrayed by his own soft and swollen body. Even rising from the spear seat to merely stand caused his joints and stiff bones to scald and ache. The blanket fell to his feet and Aero Hotah had rushed to help; but Doran waved him away. "I can stand for my niece, Aero," he murmured as Rhaenys ran to him. "I can stand…"

He hobbled from the dais, his arms open to greet her. _Gracious gods, you've let her grow tall!_ Doran thought, as he took her into his thin arms. The little girl he remembered was twelve years gone, but he knew that face; lovelier than ever, every part Elia. Yet, there was a bit of Rhaegar in her, too. Doran held her as she wept, caressing her hair softly with his gouty hand. "You're home, Rhaenys," he murmured. "You're home now, dearest."

\---

After Rhaenys settled and soaked in the bathing pool, Arianne sat cross-legged at the marble edge, a drop of jasmine oil in her palm. "You've been too quiet, little dragon" she remarked, running her fingers through her cousin's wet hair.

"I don't mean to be," Rhaenys replied as Arianne gently massaged the oil into her scalp. It felt strange to be back in Sunspear, even stranger for Arianne to wash her hair as she used to do. Even Rhaenys felt strange; Arianne, who was big sister to her since she was three, _had_ to have noticed. 

"Speak, sing, scream to the heavens," Arianne said. "Whatever you have to do."

Rhaenys watched as a drop of oil dripped onto the bathwater, gossamer at the surface. She had left Slaver's Bay with a new dawn heavy on her mind, bothered and haunted by Daenerys' parting words: _false dragon_. The words hung over her like a dark cloud spitting bitter rain. _The blood of the dragon...its more than just words. It's more than a claim-- it's what I am._ "There are many things I have to do, Arianne. Some I wish to do without. But i've learned my lesson in Meereen. I can't let my heart rule over me."

"When has your heart treated you so ill?"

Rhaenys tilted her head back, so that Arianne could rinse her hair."I have a duty to Westeros," she murmured. "And I will not be robbed of the Iron Throne again."

"Daenerys wouldn't dare to steal the crown from you," Arianne remarked, wringing out Rhaenys' hair. "You were wise to bid Uncle Oberyn to stay in Meereen. He'll speak sense to her in time."

"Not…not just Daenerys," Rhaenys said. "Robert Baratheon died and left the Seven Kingdoms to a bloodbath. I can't have that happen again." Rhaenys turned her head to the side, to peer at her cousin. She tried to smile, to ease her cousin's worry; it only felt peculiar and heavy on her face. "Your father's wish to watch my children play at the Water Gardens may come true…" The bathwater suddenly felt tepid and gooseflesh riddled up her spine. The verisimilitude of her words bore into her like knives-- it felt so much worse when spoken out loud.

"Rhaenys," Arianne said, as if to rouse her.

"It's for the best," she replied, her voice small. Rhaenys wondered what man would have her now. Her and her readiness to deceive and lie. Her new found willingness to draw blood and bare teeth. Her dreadful nightmares and awful scars. _Robb still would_ , she thought bitterly. _I could be half a wraith and half a demon, and he would still have me._ She then cursed herself for dwelling on what she couldn't have, what was determined to keep her in the shadows. _Marry a Tyrell, like Petyr Baelish suggested. That would be his House's pardon for aligning with the Lannisters. Name your first son for your first love…_ She repeated all this to Arianne, the words like sand in her mouth.

"That won't make you happy." Arianne remarked.

"It will make me wise," Rhaenys uttered, growing sadder and sadder. "No King of Westeros was without a consort or heirs. Even the Half-Year Queen had her king. The people of Westeros wouldn't want a tormented widow for their queen-- they'll all certainly know of what happened at the Twins."

"The Westeroi will take you as you are for their queen. It isn't their place to make demands of you."

"I need their acceptance and trust, Arianne. And I want to be a good queen, as my mother would have been." Rhaenys rose from the pool, grabbing a towel from a nearby bench and wrapping it around herself. Her hair was still damp; water dripped from the roots and down her face as though she were crying. Rhaenys reached for her sopping curls, and wrung them out; cold water trickled over her fingers and onto the floor. She felt Arianne's hand grasp her bare shoulder softly.

"We've a hundred rivers to cross before any wedding vows are said," Arianne murmured into her ear. "A coronation will be yours first."

Rhaenys nodded, her fingers still in her hair and her dark eyes downcast. It should have been a pretty picture. Her, sat on the Iron Throne at last. Her father's--no, _her_ \-- banners hung along the Red Keep for the first time in over twenty years. Stood before her would be friends and doubters alike; the Starks and Martells would front the crowd, along with her bastard cousins and good-brother. A High Septon would place a crown upon her head, name her Queen of Westeros and urge the rest to follow. _A crown of gold? No, one of bronze and iron-- they're stronger gold and silver. That's what Robb said_. She lifted her head and turned around to look at Arianne.

"Anger is better than tears," her cousin told her. "Better than grief. Nothing knows anger better than fire and the fire is yours, little dragon."

\---

Sunspear's sept was a modest chamber near the Spear Tower, walled in by pale sandstones and paved with milky marble. There was no true door, only an airy silk curtain that allowed sunlight to bathe the alters. In Sunspear, the Seven were not depicted as carved statues or painted marble, but as figures inlaid in colored glass along the wall. They were all rich in color, a marvelous sight when the sun reached them. 

Rhaenys knelt before the Mother as if in prayer, but left the candles unlit. It had been a while since she uttered any word of the Mother's Hymm. _I'm too far from a kinder way_ she thought. Instead, Rhaenys kept her hands folded in her lap as she dwelled on what words her uncle's bannerman would hear that coming night. To take back Dragonstone would mark the beginning of a new war; the one between her and the Lannisters. A war both long awaited and long dreaded. _What choices do we have left? The longer we wait, the more we will suffer._

The sound of boot steps broke her thoughts. Rhaenys glanced over her shoulder, rather annoyed; she only came into the sept for privacy. She found herself looking into the dark amber eyes of Ser Cletus Yronwood. "Forgive me, my queen," he said, looking the very same as she last saw him; at Winterfell, for her wedding. "I've interrupted your prayers."

"I haven't prayed in almost a year," she told him, no longed vexed--it was a kindness to see an old friend once again. Cletus knelt next to her, glancing upon the Mother's face before returning his warm gaze to Rhaenys.

"Then why come here?" He wondered.

"No one would think to bother me here."

Cletus smiled, as he often did. Even as a young boy, he was always laughing or smiling. "You've an audience with your uncle's bannermen this evenfall. I look forward to it."

"I didn't even know you were here, in Dorne," Rhaenys admitted. "Why aren't you with Quentyn? In the Stormlands?" Her younger cousin had always been close with the Yronwoods; especially this one. It seemed odd that Cletus would remain south while his friend traveled north to meet with Stannis Baratheon.

"Prince Doran and my lord-father sent good men to accompany Quentyn," he replied. "I chose to stay in Sunspear, to wait for you."

Rhaenys' eyes flitted aside, anywhere to avoid his gaze for a moment. "You... wish to join my host to Dragonstone, ser?"

"Cletus," he corrected, still smiling. "I was still a boy when you left Dorne. I was still your friend. That didn't end, even after I saw you to your marriage bed."

Rhaenys have him a sideways look. Lord Anders Yronwood once thought to marry his only son to her, but that was a long time ago. In the midst of a child's misery, Rhaenys had also begged Doran to let her marry Cletus and stay in Dorne-- that was also a long time ago. "It's quite a dangerous time to be my friend," she said.

"There's never been a more honorable time to be your friend," Cletus remarked. "Princess Elia and Prince Aegon will be avenged at last, and the Seven Kingdoms will be restored to former glory." He leaned in closer to her, as if to share a secret. "And who wouldn't want a dragon mother for a friend?" Cletus drew away, his idle eye staring else where. "I have to ask…is it true that your Greyjoy friend stole ships from the Iron Fleet?"

Rhaenys pressed her lips together, trying not to smile in amusement. Had Asha been there, she would have grinned and proudly attested. "She might have borrowed one or two…or twenty-five." It wasn't a frightful undertaking as Rhaenys had thought. Lord Victarion may have been a dullard, but many of his men were not. Asha had no issue winning them over.

Cletus laughed. "What pirate have you allowed in your midst?"

"Asha isn't a pirate," she replied. "She's Lady of the Iron Islands."

"Strange company you keep." He suddenly brushed a stray hair from Rhaenys' face, his fingers skimming her cheek. She quickly flinched away, nearly slapping his hand away from her. The only man to have ever touched her like that had been dead for almost a year. 

"I'm still your queen," Rhaenys said harshly, rising to stand.

"Will you grieve forever?" Cletus dared to ask, still knelt before the Mother. 

"Once this war is done with, I will take another for my husband. Though i'd rather ride to the Greenblood, and live my life out with the Orphans than lie with another man. But I know my duty. Do you?!"

He dipped his head. "My sword is yours, my good queen. As is my life."

Rhaenys looked down at him, her eyes narrowed. "Then you will not touch me again." 

"Never again, Your Grace," Cletus promised. Slightly appeased, Rhaenys doubted he would be so foolish to cross this promise. She bowed her head, in respect for the knight that he trained to be, and turned to leave the sept. Her fingers had only brushed the silk curtain when Cletus spoke again: "Robb Stark won't be the last man to love you. Any lord would be lucky to have you."

Rhaenys fingers grasped at the silk's edge, ready to throw it aside. "They killed my wolf-- now I must do with a dog," she spoke, not looking at him. "Don't tell me i'll be happier for it."

\---

From behind a marble pillar, Rhaenys watched the great gilded doors of Sunspear's great hall. The Dornishmen awaited her behind those doors, surely all ready to raise their banners in her name and crown. She looked down at herself, smoothing her dress; dark red Dornish silk, carefully draped like the tokars of Meereen but with more freedom and elegance. The hem and edges were inlain with scrollwork in black thread. She wore a gold belt, a gold wristlet, and a necklace of onyx that had been carved into the likeness of a dragon's curved fang; a gift from Ellaria Sand.

 _Know who you are_ she thought to herself, striding to the gilded doors and pushing them open with both of her hands.

The feast hall was just as Rhaenys remembered it. Pale marble floors and walls, with a high dome ceiling. During the day, sunlight would have bathed the hall and the colored glass windows. For now, gilded torches did just as well. Unfamiliar to her were the sights of the many Dornish banners that hung along the furthest wall; there hadn't been such a gathering in many years. More unusual was the red thrice-headed dragon on black that rivaled the rest of the banners, including the sun-and-spear of House Martell. 

Rhaenys walked along to her seat, nodding respectfully to men and women as they all stood to welcome her. Some faces she recognized, even after so many years. Others were new to her. When her eyes found Allyria Dayne, dark-haired and pale-violet eyed, she stopped and murmured to her: "Your nephew is alive, my lady. He's in the Riverlands, with good company." Lady Allyria nodded, in relief and gratitude, reaching for Rhaenys' hand and gently squeezing it.

Prince Doran sat to the right of Rhaenys' seat, with Arianne and Trystane close by. Ellaria also joined them, along her elder daughters Elia and Obella. Only one of the older Sand Snakes, Tyene, was with them; only the gods knew where her other sisters were now. Foreign to Dorne were Theon and Asha, Lord Velaryon, Lord Connington, and Tyrion Lannister.

When Rhaenys reached her seat, she continued to stand, looking down the longtable. "I took my time to return to Sunspear, haven't I?" She said, finding a smile for them. It was small, but warm enough for others to return it. "But I returned to ask for the blood of you," Rhaenys continued. "I've already watched too many good men and women bleed for me... i'd hate to ask for that again."

"Make any demands of us, Your Grace," Lord Uller uttered. "I know all be will right in the world once you are on that throne."

"Dorne remembers," Lady Blackmont spoke. "We remember what the Lannisters did to your mother and brother, and to your husband and unborn child."

Rhaenys bowed her head. She could have been back in the great hall of Winterfell, when the northerners honored and welcomed her as their queen for a second time. _You win them over so easily_ Jon Snow had said. As she thought of her good-brother, her easy smile returned after a long time away-- it made her even braver. "Daenerys remains in Meereen, but she is of no consequence. Our path now lies through and beyond the Red Mountains, where my enemies still believe me to be dead. But once we take back Dragonstone, that shroud will be cast aside. Our last war will begin... and it will ours to win."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE BACK IN WESTEROS


	58. dorne remembers (the north remembers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...the words came like a balm. It meant that a debt would soon to be paid."

Sonaral had grown since leaving Meereen. She was the size of a direwolf now (the size of Grey Wind perhaps, when he had lived) and commanded a bearing of terror that only Rhaenys didn't fear. _She's fed well,_ Asha had remarked, after Tyrion wondered how the dragon came to be her size so quickly. _It's the sun and sky,_ Rhaenys then said to them. _It's the caress of the wind. It's freedom._ She pitied Daenerys, who kept two of her dragons chained in the dark of a small prison. It only became obvious after leaving the Great Pyramid; Dany couldn't control her children, and with that came fear of her children. _You fear what you can't control,_ Rhaenys thought, as Sonaral rested her massive head upon her lap. 

Like a growing young maid, the dragon's true beauty began to show; her scales had become darker, the grey of storm clouds swollen with rain. Still they gleamed, faint like dying moonlight. Along her dark body were slashes and flecks of dark frost, the same color as the skin of her wings. Her teeth and claws were black and shown like onyx. Her eyes were cold blue stars; they reminded Rhaenys of Old Nan's tales about the Night King and his frozen blue eyes. Sonaral's flame had grown with her as well-- orange-and-yellow shot through with an eerie pale blue.

Rhaenys caressed Sonaral's head, while looking out to the silky waters of where the Summer Sea and Sea of Dorne met. Behind her were the massive cliffs where the Old Palace rested, the Tower of the Sun and Spear Tower casting cool shadows along the beach where Rhaenys sat. She dug her fingers into the sand and watched it fall. After years of snow and cold dirt, even the soft sand seemed strange; the only thing Dornish about her now was her look. Rhaenys brushed her sand-covered hand against her riding trousers, returning her gaze to the sea. She had always wondered about the day Nymeria of the Rhoyne decided to cross the Narrow Sea. Had she been sanguine or despaired? But she had to have been brave, regardless, and Rhaenys supposed that was all that mattered. 

Suddenly, Sonaral's eyes opened and she wrenched her head from Rhaenys' lap; in the hasty movement, one of her horns scored Rhaenys' forearm painfully and drew blood. Startled, Rhaenys drew her hand away from the dragon. She thought to scold Sonaral for hurting her but for a terrible moment, she was afraid to. Sonaral purred, not realizing what she had done. She bunted Rhaenys' hand softly before clambering and flying away, shrieking as she went.

Rhaenys watched as her dragon flew away, her eyes still wide from being startled. She looked down at her scratched arm; the long graze was no different than one from a cat's claws-- the smaller of Sonaral's horns. Rhaenys quickly realized how lucky she was; had it been a larger one of the horns, like the ones at the dragon's crown, it could have gouged a gash into her flesh. She clasped the cut with her other hand to stay the blood and the sting. The pain didn't bother her-- not as much as the fear of her own dragon did. 

"Rhaenys, what happened?" She looked over her shoulder to see Theon. His dark-grey eyes flitted to her bleeding arm and his brow furrowed. 

"Sonaral," Rhaenys stammered, as he hurried over to her. "It was an accident. She doesn't know her own strength…" Theon gently took her hand from the wound, to see it for himself. Blood trickled down her arm like tiny streams and onto the sand, making it look worse than it actually was. 

"Sonaral is still a dragon, Rhae," he said, staunching the bleeding with his own hand. "Even the dragons of old weren't ever properly tamed."

"It was an accident!" She repeated sharply.

That only irritated Theon. "She isn't even fully grown yet. If anything, you got lucky."

Sulking, Rhaenys didn't respond. She wasn't so foolish to think that Sonaral would be any different than the Targaryens' dragons. A dragon was fire made flesh, and flesh made steel. History said that they never stopped growing, given food and freedom. How could a creature as such ever be tamed? The dragon only came to be because Rhaenys was brave; she would have to be braver, to stave off a monster.

Theon sighed, hesitating before he spoke again. "I was looking for you, to tell you…" He trailed off as he still did sometimes.

"Tell me what?" 

"Princess Arianne told me. A white raven came from the Citadel. Winter is here."

Rhaenys gave Theon a sideways look, her lips slightly parted to respond; but nothing came. _Winter is here_ ; the words came like a balm. It meant that a debt would soon to be paid. In response to her bewildered silence, he just smiled. "I know…who could believe that, in a place like this?"

Sat upon the sands of Dorne, Rhaenys' mind wandered north. It had been snowing when they left all those moons ago. Had the snows start to come heavier? Did the white winds rattle the trees wildly? Were the dawns as grim as the nights? Did the wolves still howl and howl? The Stark words weren't hers anymore, but they still meant something.

"Lord Stark said it would," she finally said. "He promised."

\---

By the time Sonaral returned, Rhaenys and Theon had long left the shaded beach. After her wound had been tended to, Rhaenys joined the Sand Snakes at a sandy pit that served as their training yard. Areo Hotah sought her out to inform her that Sonaral had gone back to the beach, to feast on a blacken sand stag carcass. "I may not know much about dragons, but I know well to not interrupt their supper."

Rhaenys sat cross-legged upon a woven rug laid out on the sand, watching Tyene give her sister Elia a skin of water. Sweeter and fairer than the summer, Tyene's choice weapon was poison, but Elia was called "Lady Lance" for good reason. Obella was a year younger than Elia, lethal when a double-curved bow was in her hand. Seated with Rhaenys were the youngest of the Oberyn's and Ellaria's daughters, Dorea and Loreza. Dorea was ten, and carried a morningstar like how some little girls carried around dolls. Loreza was eight and missed her father and older half-sisters terribly. Sarella was rumored to be at Oldtown, and the last Rhaenys saw Nymeria and Obara had been at Harrenhal. 

While the three older sisters spoke among themselves, Loreza wove golden rings into Rhaenys' braid, humming a pleasant melody. Dorea wandered a few steps away, swinging her morningstar as she went. "Can you tell me a story?" Loreza asked, breaking her tune suddenly. 

"What sort?" Rhaenys asked, smiling gently at her doe-eyed little cousin.

"One from the North."

Rhaenys doubted she would ever forget any of Old Nan's stories, but a cruel one was the first to come to mind.

"You know of the Night's Watch?" She asked Loreza. The little girl nodded, and Rhaenys continued. Even Dorea lulled her morningstar to hear an unfamiliar tale. 

"Well, the Watch holds many castles along the Wall. The most haunted of them all is the forsaken Nightfort. Years and years ago, when the Andals still ruled themselves, a king of theirs was feasted at the Nightfort. A cook of the Night's Watch served this king as he would any man, and proudly presented him with a pie. But the pie wasn't only one of bacon. Before night fell, the cook slew the king's son for a wrong the king had done to him, and baked his flesh into that very same pie. The Andal king ate every morsel, praised the cook for its taste, and asked for a second piece. Before the cook could agree, the gods cursed him, transforming him to a great white rat and dooming him to be unable to eat anything but his own young. Do you know why the gods were so angry with him?"

"Because he murdered the king's son?" Loreza asked, her eyes wide. 

"Because the cook made the king a cannibal?" Dorea called out.

"No…because he slew a guest beneath his roof. To bring harm upon a guest in your home is to beg for the wrath of the gods, old and new."

It was a grim tale, only spoken from her grief, and Rhaenys suddenly felt ashamed for not telling a kinder one. 

"Does the rat cook still live in the Nightfort?" Dorea asked eagerly.

"Some say he does."

"Will the gods turn Walder Frey into a great ugly rat?" Loreza wondered. Rhaenys twisted the end of her braid around her finger; even the littlest of children knew of the Red Wedding. 

"I say he's already one," Dorea announced. The girls then discussed what other sorts of deplorable creatures the gods could make of Walder Frey. Rhaenys heard the words 'bat', 'mole', 'worm' and tried to find amusement-- but that was impossible. 

In the shifting sand, it was hard to hear anyone approach them. Only when Rhaenys raised her downcast eyes, did she finally notice Ellaria Sand and all her concern. "Girls, go play," Ellaria told her daughters, settling next to Rhaenys. Dorea and Loreza scampered away, taking their discussion with them.

"Rhaenys," Ellaria sighed, adjusting one of the rings in Rhaenys' hair. "Queen you may be, but I am worried about you. Roose Bolton is dead, as are Robert Baratheon and Joffery, Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane. Oberyn had long made the death Tywin Lannister his prayer. Now you speak more names; Cersei, Jaime, Frey… where does it end, Rhaenys?"

"Their hands are filthy with blood!" Rhaenys exclaimed. "Mother's and Aegon's and Robb's--"

"And who else must die for their shades to rest? We thought you dead for moons, dearest, and gods know where Nymeria and Obara are. Elia and Obella, You can imagine what their conversations have become. They worship you all, as Dorea and Loreza worship them. If you should die, must El and Obella seek vengeance for you, then Dorea and Loree for them? What about Nym and Obara and Oberyn? Or Arianne, Quentyn, and Trysane? Is that how it goes, round and round forever? I ask again, where does it end?" 

"There's an end," Rhaenys said, though she wasn't as sure as she wanted to be. "There's an end. There must be. I don't want to be fighting this war when its over."

"Then choose justice, not vengeance," Ellaria urged, taking Rhaenys' hand into hers. "See to it, and be free to live." 

_How lives must I live before i'm allowed to one?_ Rhaenys thought. But she smiled and kissed Ellaria's cheek as if all was well. 

\---

The blanched stone quay was lined with people. Doran was brought out in his wheeled chair, Areo Hotah standing loyally beside him. Ser Manfrey Martell, Arianne and Trysane, Ellaria and the Sand Snakes, Tyrion Lannister and Lord Connington, the Greyjoys and Lord Velaryon, many of the Martell bannermen--all craned their necks for a glimpse of what was to be the queen's navy. Dorne wasn't known for its sea strength, not since Queen Nymeria burned every one of her ten thousand ships. Now, in the bay where fishing boats and trading galleys once idled, were eighty ships. Twenty-five were those from the Iron Fleet, now commanded by Asha. The Martells' fleet itself only boasted forty ships and the rest were Myrish sellsails, many of which were not as massive as the ironborn vessels. 

Rhaenys stood at the very edge of the quay, the sea wind gently stirring her hair and shawl. As small as it was, the fleet was magnificent to her. Some of the larger Dornish vessels had taken down their orange sun-and-spear sails and lifted newly painted ones in their place; black with the red three-headed dragon--an utter surprise when Rhaenys saw them. However, magnificence didn't not guarantee success. _Will it be enough to take the castle, and hold it?_ She wondered. Lord Velaryon was certain that the old houses sworn to Dragonstone would rally for her, but who could be sure these days?

"Have we any idea of who holds Dragonstone now? Rhaenys asked, still gazing at the painted sails. Forces loyal to Tommen and lead by Lord Paxter Redwyne had laid siege to the island. The castle's only defense had been the houses sworn to Dragonstone.

"If there is a victor, then the word didn't make it this far south," Lord Velaryon replied. "I'll supposed we'll learn quick enough, once we are there."

"I'll expect lions, nevertheless." At least they hadn't taken Storm's End, where Quentyn and the Golden Company awaited Rhaenys and her company. Before leaving for Meereen, Lord Connington tasked the men to sail east and help defend the Baratheons' stronghold, long held by a knight sworn to Lord Stannis. Mace Tyrell had abandoned the siege of Storm's End, leaving it in the hands of one of his bannermen; the siege was quick to become a rout. 

"How do you plan to take this fleet north?" Tyrion asked. 

"I plan to split it," Rhaenys replied. "Asha will take the larger of the ironborn ships to Pentos before sailing to Dragonstone. Even after we leave Storm's End, we'll sail closer to Essos." 

"That would take longer," Lord Velaryon mused. "But better the more days at sea than to have the whole of King's Landing breathing down our necks. Should we expect northern support?" 

"Some from House Manderly. I need the northerners to focus on retaking the riverlands." 

"Perhaps they'll fare better this time," Ser Gerold Dayne remarked. Rhaenys glanced at him, her eyes slightly narrowed. She could admit that he was a fair man; he was strong jawed with high cheekbones, and his thick silver hair fell to his collar and had a single streak of midnight black. The purple of his eyes were dark and angry, giving him a mysterious air. Many called him Darkstar; according to Trysane, he was a cruel man, with a cruel mouth and a crueler tongue. Arianne had admitted to Rhaenys that she included him for his prowess and keep. _That's it?_ Rhaenys asked dryly, kindling a coy smile from her cousin.

Before Rhaenys could retort, Tyrion hastily spoke: "So will I be seeing the great Ser Wendel Manderly again? I'm sure he'll do just as well in a siege as he does at a wedding feast."

"Ser Wendel is dead," Rhaenys replied darkly. "He died at the Twins."

"…Oh."

"May I ask how many more northernmen died at the Twins, Your Grace?" Ser Gerold asked.

Even Doran furrowed his brow as the knight gazed upon Rhaenys. She pressed her lips together. "Too many, ser," she then replied coldly.

"I worry for their numbers," the Darkstar claimed. "I only hope they are able to replenish themselves, by the day we take King's Landing."

"Don't ever doubt a northerman... or _me_ for that matter," Rhaenys remarked. "Not unless you want a blackened eye."

Even Ser Gerold had to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how the hell is it december already
> 
> Edit: Probably dumb question: are Robb and Rhaenys still technically married?? I mean, they were both dead for a while, and i'm even sure how to go about finding an answer to this.


	59. a song of summer and winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A brisk wind came from the north-- not the cold of winter but something nearly close."

As a girl, one of Rhaenys' favorite stories had been about the first and last Storm Queen, Argella Durrandon. After Orys Baratheon slew her father, Argella barred the gates of Storm's End and declared herself queen. When Queen Rhaenys flew Meraxes to the castle for parley, Queen Argella declared: _you may take my castle, but you will win only bones and blood and ashes_. Refusing to share the fate of the smoking walls of Harrenhal, Argella's own garrison revolved against her, raising a peace banner and delivering Argella to Orys' camp in chains. _They betrayed her!_ A young Rhaenys had cried as Arianne told the tale of the willful and bold woman. _She was their queen!_

From the wooden quays beneath Durran's Point, Rhaenys could imagine her namesake standing at the fore of the castle, demanding to speak with the Storm Queen. The stronghold itself was surrounded by a massive wall of pale grey stones. Storms from the Summer Sea were known to travel north and slam into Durran's Point, but the curtain wall was smooth and curved, and the stones perfectly placed; no storm's wind could ever find anchorage. Some claimed spells carved into the stone were the truth of the castle's impeccable protection. There was only a single tower, a vast drum crowned with formidable bastions.

"Oh, here comes the welcome," Tyrion remarked, as twenty mounted men spurred down the foreland where Storm's End rose. Two of them carried great banners of gold, emboldened with a crowned black stag. Rhaenys' eyes darted to the front of the host, where she expected to see Stannis Baratheon. But it wasn't the Lord of Storm's End who led the men to greet her; rather, it was a fair-haired man unknown to her. He halted his horse before her, as did his men.

"Queen Rhaenys," he greeted, dismounting his steed. "My name is Gilbert Farring, castallan of Storm's End."

Rhaenys dipped her head in acknowledgment. Stannis mentioned that a knight of House Farring had been holding his castle. Ser Gilbert called for horses and from the ranks came a comely man with dark red hair. "Griff!" He called, as he guided a pair of horses their way. "Or should I say, Lord Griff now?"

"It's done with, Rivers?" Lord Connington asked, looking mildly surprised. "You took Griffin's Roost?"

"It could not have been more easy," he claimed, before looking to Rhaenys. "So you're the other puppet in the fat man's farce?"

Rhaenys turned indignant. "I am not a puppet!" She exclaimed, assuming the "fat man" to be Illyrio Mopatis, who had convinced the Golden Company to take her cause.

"Well, you seem more promising than Viserys and Daenerys," the man called Rivers mused. "You're actually here." He passed the reins of a snowy white mare to her. "She's called Maiden." He looked down at Tyrion. "I'm afraid I haven't a pony for the little man."

"I'll walk, thanks," Tyrion retorted coldly.

Rhaenys mounted the mare, and they began the short trek up Durran's Point. She spurred to match Ser Gilbert's pace, keen to know what happened to Stannis. "May I ask the whereabouts of your liege, ser?" She asked breathlessly.

"The last raven he sent to Storm's End had been from Moat Cailin, Your Grace." Ser Gilbert replied. "He wrote of bleeding the last of Roose Bolton's men in the North and levying men from along the Trident."

"What men?"

"Remnants from the northern armies, men that aren't entirely broken yet. You'd be surprised how many men a lord can raise from forgotten lands, given the proper cause."

"He's been taking his time, then," Cletus Yronwood remarked.

As they reached the crest of Durran's Point, Rhaenys stopped to look out to the west. Mountains rose in the distance, dark against the grey skies-- a small ridge between the Stormlands and the Reach. However, she was more interested in the dense woods that hemmed the bottom of the rough slope. The trees rose tall and proud, dark green and concealing a horizon's worth of adventure. How nice it was to see a forest again. She thought about how lovely it would have been to spur the mare through those trees, to have tangled hair and no care in the world. Cletus had certainly noticed her small smile, and shifted his horse so that he was beside her. "You seem happier here," he remarked. "Is it the trees or the cold?"

"What are you talking about?" Rhaenys asked, glancing at him.

"If these lands remind me of the North," he replied. "Then they surely remind you too."

Rhaenys bit the inside of her cheek as the knight continued to speak "Don't feel strange about it," he said. "You've known Winterfell longer than Sunspear. You remember why Nymeria burned her ten-thousand ships after they landed at Dorne. _Our wanderings are at an end_ , she told her people. _We have found a new home, and here we shall live and die_. You've longed burned your ships, my queen. It's a shame that you must now rebuild every one of them."

Somewhere in the distance, a dragon cried. Rhaenys turned from the forest to Shipbreaker Bay, just as Sonaral plunged into the waters to pluck a fish from its depths. Then, from the greenwoods below, a wolf howled, low and harrowing. _A lone wolf_ , she thought, as no others joined its song. She hated the thought of a lonely wolf. "I don't have to wander. I know where to go." Rhaenys told him. "Even if I had to go east to return north. I haven't been lost in a long time." Parts of her, perhaps, were still lost. Her laugh had gone to a shadowland, her heart thrown to a river near the Twins.

A brisk wind came from the north-- not the cold of winter but something nearly close. "How far are we from Summerhall? Rhaenys wondered, remembering that the ruins of the Targaryens' summer castle were somewhere in the Stormlands.

"Maybe a fortnight's ride," Cletus guessed. "You think to visit the ruins someday?"

"Someday," she echoed, a bit bewildered with her answer--how much more grief could she bear? "My father visited there often enough. He'd sleep under the stars and awake with songs."

"What sort of songs?"

"Twilights and tears and the death of kings, or so my uncle said." There must have been a time when Rhaegar took her upon his lap, plucking at his harp's strings as he sang for her. Rhaenys felt a twinge of rare remorse for her father; all of his songs had died with him.

"Maybe you'll return with a song or two," Cletus mused.

Rhaenys had to smile. "No, I wouldn't." Just as she inherited none of her father's look, she inherited little of his singing prowess. Perhaps she was a shade better than Arya, who all but shouted the words, much to the amusement of everyone but her mother, sister, and septa. It was Sansa who always had a sweet voice and a head for sweeter melodies.

"You sang hymns," the knight remembered. "You knew all the words."

"I was a child," she reminded him.

"Grief has your tongue, I understand," Cletus sighed. "But maybe you are your father's daughter after all…if I may speak freely."

"That's all you do," Rhaenys remarked, turning her horse away from the woods and trotting towards the looming castle. She could've still hear the knight laugh.

\---

Storm's End had a godswood once. But after reclaiming the castle as his, Stannis burned it as an offering to the Lord of Light. Maester Jurne had been in Renly's service and spoke of the solemn-faced heart tree: _The last tree put to torch had been the weirwood._ Nothing of it remained. The old gods lost another pair of eyes-- but perhaps it didn't matter, seeing how blind they were anyway.

Rhaenys stood among the ashes, looking around at the blacken and charred skeleton of what was a modest godswood. Her cousin Quentyn Martell stood some ways away, shifting the dirt and ash with the toe of his boot. Quentyn was stocky and plain-faced, the same dark hair and eyes of his sister and brother. Unlike his friend Cletus, Quentyn's smile did not come easy; though, he made an exception for Rhaenys, when she rode into the castle yard. "You must have been bored since returning from Griffin's Roost," Rhaenys said. "You've been here for how long? Two months?"

She watched as Quentyn shrugged, still staring at the burnt branches like he expected to find something. Rhaenys walked over to him, her heavy skirts trailing over ashes. "I've feasted with men who've taken castles," she said. "I know the sounds of pride and glory, and you've been rather quiet." She had expected even her somber cousin to be alight with tales of his first siege, his first ride out of Dorne.

"Rhaenys, I was terrified," Quentyn responded, as if ashamed to admit it. "Franklyn Flowers had me shoot down ravens from the maester's tower. My hands were shaking the entire time. I was so scared of missing."

Rhaenys knew Quentyn had been trained with a bow since the moment he could've walked. "But you didn't miss," she said. "I know that because Jon Connington is Lord of Griffin's Roost once again. If you can mind his prickliness long enough, he'll give you a lord's gratitude."

Quentyn knelt down in the ashes to examine a burnt tree stump "I would rather have that of my father's."

"You already have that, Quent. You'll see, when you return to Dorne."

" _If_ I ever return to Dorne," he muttered. "Gods, I never thought i'd miss it all so much. Sunspear. Yronwood..." Quentyn suddenly turned shamefaced. "I shouldn't complain. Your road has been a longer and harder one to walk."

"It doesn't matter. A castle lies at the end at both of our roads."

"Yours shall be the Red Keep," Quentyn remarked. "Maegor The Cruel vowed that only the blood of the dragon would ever know of the castle's secrets."

"That castle no longer holds secrets," Rhaenys claimed. "I'm sure every one of them has bled out from the red stones by now." Truthfully, the thought of living in the Red Keep, even living in King's Landing, made her skin crawl.

"You'll restore the city, Rhae. Just as you restored Winterfell."

"I didn't restore Winterfell. I only made sure a Stark ruled it once again." But perhaps it was all the same, nevertheless. At the thought of Winterfell and the Starks, she reached within her cloak, to make sure that Sansa's letter was still tucked away safely. Rhaenys had written to her the night she returned to Sunspear, speaking of the coming days and months. Sansa's reply had been one of courage and hope and love...

"If Stannis still lives, I will give him a fortnight and no more," Rhaenys said. "This war should have ended as quickly as it started--we win the throne, we win the war."

"But Stannis' command would be worth more to us than gold," Quentyn remarked. "He knows Dragonstone better than any of us."

"Then Stannis better have a wondrous explanation of his long absence. I've been in Essos for months…"

"Are you discussing the Late Lord, Stannis Baratheon?" Tyrion Lannister chimed in, ambling towards Rhaenys and Quentyn and glancing around the ruined godswood.

"You can say that," Rhaenys replied, and Tyrion snorted with laughter.

"He is a man who survived a siege of this very castle on rats and boot leather. Now his reputation is frolicking in the Riverlands."

"But it's all so strange," Quentyn insisted. "Stannis Baratheon doesn't seem like a man to tarry. What if he's betrayed Rhaenys?"

"He wouldn't," Rhaenys said sharply. "I have his wife and daughter in Winterfell. Stannis already played a dangerous game with Shireen's life; he wouldn't be so foolish to do it again."

"We've enough dangerous games to play," Tyrion agreed. "Oh, and Prince Quentyn. Lord Connington wishes to speak with you. Gods willing, he shall be brief."

Solemn-faced once more, Quentyn left the ruined godswood. "Are you sure you haven't lost faith in Stannis?" Tyrion asked, looking up at her. "Believe me, its a more common occurrence than you think."

"Theon and Asha will reach Pentos in less than a fortnight," Rhaenys said. "If Stannis isn't here by then, we'll carry on without him. Lord Connington can command the siege just as well."

"After the Battle of the Bells, I better hope he can," Tyrion remarked. "You know of the battle, Your Grace?"

All Rhaenys knew was that it costed Jon Connington his lands and lordship. Still, she shook her head and the Imp spoke. "After Robert was defeated and wounded at Ashford, he hid at Stoney Sept while waiting for the Starks, Tullys, and Arryns to join him. It just so happened that the Hand of the King, Jon Connington was occupying the town and had his men scour the town for Robert. He was, needless to say, very unsuccessful. When Robert's allies reached the town, Connington chose to retreat, knowing the battle was long lost. Now, Robert and I were never the closest of friends, so I am allowed to say this; had Connington chose to burn the town, as many men would have done, he would have killed Robert and ended the rebellion."

"That's why Aerys banished him," Rhaenys realized.

"I doubt Aerys had the foresight to make such a deduction," Tyrion said. "He only banished Connington because he lost a battle."

"But…burning Stoney Sept would have meant killing every last person in the town. Not just Robert."

"Victory always comes with a price. Some men are willing to spend their last breath bargaining, rather than pay that price."

"Your father did not bargain," Rhaenys said darkly.

"He never does."

Tyrion hardly spoke of his father, but he didn't have to; Rhaenys long knew what kind of man Tywin Lannister was. "My lord," she started, not sure how to finish. "The order to… to have myself and my mother and brother killed. It was Tywin's, and everyone knows that."

"He needn't admit it," Tyrion agreed.

"Then, you know what peace I have for him."

"The same peace you had for The Mountain and Roose Bolton." He gazed up at her shrewdly and without remorse. "And i'll be glad for the day when Lord Tywin looks up from his nice cold hell and sees Mad Aerys' granddaughter on the Iron Throne."

\---

A storm came that night, as the castle dwellers feasted in Storm's End great hall. There was only one window in the modest hall; a massive thing of heavy glass, mounted high at the furthest wall and above a roaring hearth. Etched upon the glass was a pair of rearing stags. Just below the window was the lord's high seat, still very much vacant. Rhaenys sat in the midst of the Golden Company men; she wanted to know them, every one of their faces, names, and lives. If she couldn't do that, then she had no right asking them to die for her. _Ghosts and liars, lost causes and all but broken. Failed and fallen, the disgraced and the disinherited. My army and my best hope._

Rhaenys sat between Lysono Maar, the company's spymaster, and a man called Rolly. Rolly was born in the Reach, the son of a blacksmith from Bitterbridge in service to Lord Caswell. The lord's only son, Lorent, had taken a longsword made for Rolly. After seeking revenge and wounded the lord's son, Rolly fled the Reach for the exile. A brawny man with a shaggy beard, a tangle of orange hair, and dreams of knighthood. Lysono was a Lyseni with pale lilac eyes and white-gold hair. His fingernails were painted purple and gemstones glinted from his ears. Rhaenys couldn't help but think he looked more like a Targaryen that she did, and told him. The Lyseni only smiled coyly. "I am flattered, my queen. Both the men and women of House Targaryen were said to be without peer in all the world." He patted her hand, his milky tapered fingers brushing her hand. "But worry not-- you are not an exception."

A brotherhood of exiles and the blood of exiles, united by a dream of the Great Bastard, Aegor Rivers. _It's home they want, as much as gold_ Rhaenys thought to herself.

It wasn't more than an hour, when the hall took a familiar appearance. Drunken men and song, tales of conflicts gone and days past. In the heart of it all, Franklyn Flowers dragged his seat closer to the hearth. He was a big-bellied and shambling giant of a man. His face was etched with old scars, and his entire left ear was missing. But in hypocrisy of his menacing appearance, Franklyn Flowers began to sing, low and mournful, and somehow above all the rest. His fellow brothers grew silent.

_My featherbed is deep and soft,_  
_and there I’ll lay you down,_  
_I’ll dress you all in yellow silk_  
_and on your head a crown._  
_For you shall be my lady love,_  
_and I shall be your lord._  
_I’ll always keep you warm and safe,_  
_and guard you with my sword._

_And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree._  
_She spun away and said to him,_  
_no featherbed for me._  
_I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves,_  
_and bind my hair with grass,_  
_But you can be my forest love,_  
_and me your forest lass_

"Where did a fellow such as yourself learn a song like that?" Tyrion asked, as Ser Gerold Dayne looked on in amusement.

"My mother used to sing it while she did the washings," Franklyn replied wistfully. "She sang all the time."

"It's lovely," Rhaenys said earnestly, and he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he did.

"Can I trouble you for a song, little queen?" Franklyn asked. Rhaenys supposed everyone looked little to him. She looked down at her half-empty wine cup. _I don't sing_ , is what she really wanted to say. Yet, she found it difficult to say no...

Rhaenys couldn't remember the name of the song, but the words were as fresh as the rain pelting the windows. It was an old one from the North, many claimed from the time of The Hungry Wolf, King Theon Stark, but Septa Mordane had deemed it an improper song for a lady to utter...

_The wolf wind nears, he comes for your lass,_  
_Ironwood, oak, hawthrone and ash,_  
_The north wind nears, she comes for your soul,_  
_Body and blood and a feast for crows,_

_The white wind nears, he comes for your bones,_  
_Sentinel, pine, evergreen and loam,_  
_The widow wind nears, she comes for your lord,_  
_Guard your babes with song and sword,_

_The ghost wind nears, it comes for your pyre,_  
_Chestnut, beech, moss and black briar,_  
_The gods' wind near, they come with your hope,_  
_But you left your life to a hangman's rope._

Only after she finished the song, did Rhaenys remember the name of it: "The Winds of Winter."

\---

Another two days of rain kept Storm's End dwellers inside. As the dawn of the third day came with pale orange and blue skies, so did a raven. They gathered in the maester's modest chamber, the maester himself already clutching a quill, ready to respond to what was a urgent request. "It's from Stannis," Ser Gilbert told Rhaenys. "They're a day's ride from Storm's End, but his wounded need attention."

"What happened?" Rhaenys asked, fearing they had been ambushed. Cletus had suggested that such a thing was possible, as Stannis' journey would have them march through the border of the Stormlands and the Reach.

"They joined Lord Buckler to clash with Tyrell forces. Lord Stannis wrote it was a rout, but not without injury."

"I'll send some men of the Golden Company with yours," Rhaenys said.

"An appreciated gesture, Your Grace," Maester Jurne said, putting his quill to the parchment as his young helper Rolan peered over the desk.

Ser Gilbert's men and chosen company men were to leave that very hour, and Rhaenys decided to join them. While she went to stables to saddle her horse, Cletus attempted to change her mind. "If Tyrell men have returned to ravage the stormlands, then you'll be safer here." The mare whinnied and Rhaenys spoke gently to her, feeding her chucks of apples from her hand.

"Stannis' men are now also my men," she retorted, cinching the saddle girth. "And I will make certain that they arrive to Storm's End."

"You're a queen, not a healer."

"I should take that as an insult," Rhaenys said kindly. She had her share of healing lessons from Maester Luwin. "Do knights only know how to kill?"

"Knights aren't known to plant trees or tend gardens," Cletus snorted. "But without honor, we are no better than butchers."

"The perhaps, _ser_ , you will allow me to my honor." She led Maiden out of the stable, leaving the Yronwood knight to hastily saddle his own horse. The grounds were still quite wet and muddy, and as soon as Rhaenys stepped out onto the castle yard, she also stepped into a cold puddle.

"You'll ruin your pretty dress," Cletus called out teasingly.

The hem of her riding gown was damp with mud, but Rhaenys kept walking, her eyebrows slightly raised in amusement. Waiting at the gates were Quentyn, Franklyn Flowers, Tristan Rivers, Laswell Peake, and Rolly-- her personal guard. They mounted their horses and trotted out from the castle gates. Rather than start for descent down the slope, Rhaenys skirted around Storm's End. Once she reached the edge of the cliff, she called out sweetly for Sonaral. The dragon flew to her at once, her purr as mighty as the water striking Durran's Point.

"Stay out of trouble, would you?" Rhaenys said, reaching out to caress Sonaral's snout.

\---

Rhaenys nudged the mare to a canter; then in eagerness, a gallop. Before long, the rush of Shipwreaker Bay against the cliff grew muffled, and the sky above was cloaked by towering pines. As they rode deeper into the forest, the ground changed--years and years of humus covered the earth, dulling the sounds of the horses' steps. These parts of the woods were untouched, spared from the wrath of men, and left to grow older in peace. The air was musty with decay and damp loam, and the sun shown bravely through the darkening clouds. Bright yellow marsh marigolds grew along a stream, seemingly glowing in the sparse sunlight. A perfect world of green and stillness, where birds sang sweetly and flowers bloomed. As tiny as this perfect world was, Rhaenys got lost in it all and faltered. _I'm sick of war. I want to rest and smile. I want to tread river shores with bare feet and weave flowers together like Jenny did in the song..._

\---

Maester Jurne led them to a large dell, a place well hidden in the greenwood. The grounds were strewn with wounded men. Not as terrible as Harrenhal had been, but numbers did not matter in such a circumstance. Rhaenys dismounted and handed Maiden's reins to a squire. Rather than search for Stannis, she followed Jurne and Rolan into the clearing. "Ask anything of me, Maester Jurne," Rhaenys insisted. At once and without protest, the maester gave her a small satchel.

"Everything you should need-- water, bandages, poultices, firemilk, milk of the poppy. Use that last one as sparing as they can bear. I'll send the squires to fetch more water from the stream."

Jurne then sent Rhaenys on her way. The very first to have caught her attention was a still man slumped against a tree at the edge of the clearing. Rhaenys feared he was dead, until she approached him. At the sound of her approach, he lifted his head. "Took you long enough," he mumbled. He wore a blackened gorget, the etchings of a crowned stag barely visible. Rhaenys could remember his face-- one of Stannis' knights from Crofters. However, he didn't seem to recognize her. She knelt next to him, offering him water.

"What's your name, ser?"

"Harlec," he grunted, gingerly taking the water skin from her. Rhaenys quickly unwound the bundle of bandages, looking him over for where it was needed the most.

"I have milk of the poppy--"

"None of that, girl. I want a clear head if those Tyrell bastards come prancing back."

Rhaenys did the gash on his open palm first, pouring firemilk and pressing the poultice onto the flaking cut before binding it. Harlec curled his other hand into a fist, clenching it until he shook. She tended the shallower cut behind his ear. As soon as she touched it, he cried out, beating against the ground with his trembling fist."If you want to gift me mercy, use a bloody dagger," Harlec rasped.

"You'll get no mercy from me, ser," Rhaenys replied kindly, trickling firemilk down the raw flesh; roots of dark brown and white crept down his neck. "Certainly not today."

The knight grunted, his eyes lidded from the pain. "Your lover must have a hard time with you."

"I don't have a lover."

"Really? Pretty girl like you? You must've taken up swordplay to fend them all off."

Harlec grew quiet after that, the worst of his wounds poulticed and bound. As his pain gave away to lethargy, his eyes closed in rest. Rhaenys stood up, rubbing the blood off her hand with a rag. She brushed a stray curl from her face, gazing out at the camp. By the time the men were attended to, evenfall would be at their heels; they would have to leave for Storm's End at dawn. She found herself fretting about the cold and the Tyrells, already deciding which company men were to stand sentry that night. The dell was well hidden, but the wounded were easy pickings.

Then Rolan ran up to her, looking upon her with wide eyes as he tugged her skirts urgently. "That man is staring at you," he said breathlessly, before scurrying away again. Rhaenys quickly looked up, daring to meet eyes with a man who would act so rudely. Instead, the bloody rag slipped from her fingers and her breath caught in her throat. 

Robb. It was Robb. Alive. Wonderfully alive. He was right there, and just as bewildered as she was.

Rhaenys bit hard on her lip, doing all she could to stop herself from uttering his name. If madness was another hungry god then it could've had her mind-- but it couldn't have his name. She wanted to believe that Robb had come back to her, just as she wished for every day since awaking in that cave. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. She wanted to tangle her fingers in his auburn curls and tell him how much she loved him. But Rhaenys knew that Robb Stark had died at the Twins.

Then again, so did she.

 _"Robb!"_ She shrieked. Half-eaten by hysteria, Rhaenys ran to him. For the first time since returning to Westeros, she prayed; prayed to the gods old and new, drowned and red, for she knew in her heart that this was not a dream. _Gods, you took my father and days after, you took my mother and brother. You took the wolves that raised me. You took both of my children before they drew breath. You've had your blood of me. You owe me this one man._

His eyes had thawed at the sight of her and pooled like snowmelt as he caught her around her waist. When she threw her arms around him, a strangeness took her heart-- the feeling of when ice and fire met. "Rhaenys?" He realized. The last Robb said her name was moments before he died; she could've only press her cheek to his chest and cry. The sound of his beating heart was more dear to her than any song ever sung.

Words were stuck in her throat, held back by sobs. A brume of questions, a year's worth of grief. She had fallen to her knees and didn't realize it until they were both on the cold earth, with Robb gripping her tightly as he spoke softly to her. "Rhaenys," he said again, his voice shaking. He was gaunt and pale, and dark shadows ringed his eyes; to anyone else, he must have looked as wild as a wolf. _My sweet wolf_ , Rhaenys thought tenderly, cradling his face. She was lightheaded with joy. Robb was there with her. Alive and safe. 

"Am I dreaming again, my love?" Robb wept, touching his forehead to hers and swaying slightly as he held her.

Rhaenys shook her head, gazing into his eyes. "I'm here," she promised, tears running down her cheeks. "I'm here, Robb."

His azure eyes shown like a summer sky when he smiled, in a knowing and loving way that Rhaenys had long left to memory-- it was enough to break her heart as much as heal it. He kissed her, tenderly, and she felt all the warmth of summer upon his lips. "I love you," Robb murmured. "I'll always love you."

"And I love you," Rhaenys breathed. She couldn't say it enough. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had finals and whatnot, but now i'm on break. Hope this was worth the wait :)
> 
> Playlist I have for this fanfic, in case you haven't seen it: https://playmoss.com/en/littoralbones/playlist/from-the-north-wind-her-fire-follows


	60. young lovers and starving hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All men must die, and women too... but first, we will live."

He had seen a girl with a braid of woven midnight that fell to the middle of her back. A healer, without a doubt, knelt beside Ser Harlec as she tended to him. But Robb couldn't help but think of Stannis Baratheon's promise-- a vow-- of his beloved lady-wife alive at Storm's End... _She lives. Rhaenys lives. All the North knows, and soon enough, Westeros will as well_. A claim so wonderful and bold that Robb would have killed the stag if he dared to lie. Then the girl rose, tall and slender as Rhaenys was, and he dared to hope. It was only when they met eyes, did the stone heart crack to reveal flesh...

When he kissed her, she breathed life into him. Robb only prayed that Rhaenys didn't taste shadows on his lips; she was never meant for darkness, and he had been dwelling in the dark for so long. _I love you_ , Rhaenys said, repeating it thrice more, her brown eyes bright and brimming with tears and life. Robb cupped her face, skimming his thumb along her wet cheek. Death didn't touch her, not as it touched him. It left him cold and bruised, but her fire still burned bright and beautiful. The queen who won back the North, who at last got the stag to kneel, who killed the man that betrayed them both. A mother to a living dragon...

Rhaenys reached to grasp his wrist, as if to anchor him to her. "I thought you were gone," she said, her voice all but a whisper.

He would tell her. He'd tell her what happened. But at that moment, he only wanted to hold her close and dearly to him. "I'm here now," Robb promised, kissing her brow. Rhaenys smiled through her tears, weeping as she pressed her head into the crook of his neck. Robb caressed her hair, soft beneath his fingertips and slightly tangled.

He was very much aware of the eyes upon them; in the distance, he recognized Stannis Baratheon, watching as everyone did.

\---

Even the bitter wind felt as sweet as summer-- perhaps such was what happened when dreams came true...

"Grey Wind!" Rhaenys exclaimed, as the direwolf bounded towards her like a pup. He had grown more massive--a monster in his own right. But the wolf only yelped, his lengthly tail thrashing from side to side as he nuzzled Rhaenys' face until she giggled. She turned her head to glance at Robb; he was smiling (unknownst to her, at the sound of her laughter). Warmth seeped into her skin, deep within to her blood and bones, thawing her like a dream of spring. 

"I saw you... I took you for a healer," Robb admitted, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

"You couldn't recognize your own wife?" Rhaenys teased. She stroked underneath the direwolf's jaw until he bunted her hand with his muzzle and scampered off.

"I couldn't recognize dream and wake," Robb murmured, kissing her temple. "Forgive me?"

"Of course." 

His hand fumbled to her belly, his palm pressed against it as he beseeched her for another apology. "I'm sorry, Rhae..."

She placed her hand over his. "It wasn't your fault."

But still, Robb bore a misplaced shame. "I shouldn't have left you." A tortured look threw shadows into his eyes, and Rhaenys knew his thoughts returned to the Twins, to Walder Frey and his son Lothar. She kissed his cheek, his thick auburn beard grazing her face. "You're here now," she breathed, reminding him of his earlier promise. "We've more days and nights than the gods can count." Their life was finally theirs, and the thought made her giddy with joy.

Robb must have realized such as well and his smile chased the shadows away. He must have thought to kiss her again, but she watched as his eyes flitted away from hers. "Lord Stannis," Robb said courteously. His voice with edged with a quiet annoyance that Rhaenys recognized; she couldn't help but smile. She turned to look upon the Lord of Storm's End, dipping her head in respect.

"Queen Rhaenys." Stannis greeted her, his dark blue eyes narrowed as a cold wind swept the dell.

Rhaenys felt as Robb gently squeezed her hand. "My apologizes, my lord," he said. "I forget that Rhaenys isn't just my queen."

"Given the circumstances, I must refuse your apology," Stannis replied. "But i'm afraid I must trouble Her Grace for a bit of her time."

"Of course, Lord Stannis," Rhaenys remarked. She had the strongest feeling that she had Stannis Baratheon to thank for her husband's return. She glanced at Robb. It was madness to even think to let him out of her sight, but even in an hour as sweet as that one, she was still Queen of Westeros. "Days and nights," she reminded him.

Robb took the end of her braid and caressed it between his fingers. "Go along, my dearest queen," he murmured.

\---

It _was_ Stannis who found Robb and a band of bannerless brothers in greenwoods near Harrenhal. The Baratheon had heard rumor about a monstrous wolf roaming about the Riverlands, just as he once heard rumors about a monstrous wolf that followed Robb Stark into battle. To learn that Robb had been in the Riverlands for so long bit Rhaenys like a mad dog; she could have gone to him, rather than gone all the way to Meereen to incur Daenerys' wrath...

"This debt is worth more than my life, Lord Stannis," Rhaenys said, walking with him to meet Maester Jurne and Ser Davos Seaworth.

"You owe no debts Your Grace, " he insisted. "I seek no favors or pardons. Because of you, I still have a daughter. When I left Winterfell, Shireen would not so much as look at me, but I love her no less for it. There is no such thing as a moment where I don't think of her. The debt I owe _you_ , Your Grace, is worth more than my life. If I had your king within my sights and I turned a blind eye to him, it would have haunted me until I reached my grave."

The testimony was strange as it was sincere, given the reputation of the unforgiving and dour Stannis Baratheon. Perhaps monsters weren't the only creatures that war made out of men. "You only heard rumors of a wolf, not a man," Rhaenys remarked.

"Hearsay did not end at the wolf, Your Grace. A smith at an inn claimed to have spoken with Robb Stark while in the company of the brotherhood without banners." Stannis said nothing more, but Rhaenys did not think to press him for anything else; she would ask Robb himself.

They found Jurne and Davos in the heart of the dell, speaking in low voices; the maester appeared very flustered. "We _must_ return to Storm's End!" Jurne insisted. "If we have to spur through the night, then so be it. A harsh frost comes, on the wings of bitter wind. It wouldn't do any of the wounded good."

"Frost?" Davos Seaworth echoed. "Maester, we're closer to Dorne than we are to the North!"

"Winter is here, ser and long summers give way to long winters. All these lands will know it, soon as soon. Soon as the morning, perhaps."

"Maester, Are you for certain?" Rhaenys asked, making herself and Stannis known to the quarreling men.

"There is suddenly not a cloud in the sky and the air is drier than it has been in moons. I am an old man, Your Grace. Old enough to remember winter in the Stormlands."

Rhaenys glanced up at the sky. She hasn't even noticed that the clouds disappeared. Evenfall was hours away, but better a long ride through the night than to be exposed to the first frost of winter. In the North, it was said the first frost was always the coldest. "Then we best hurry," she said, causing the maester to sigh in relief and for the knight to bow his head in compliance.

\---

In her haste to find Robb, Rhaenys walked into Cletus. "Easy there, good queen," he grinned, steadying her by a brief hold at her waist.

"We're leaving for Storm's End this same hour," she said. "If you could tell the others--"

"Of course," he replied. "Jurne was muttering something about frost, as if that meant something to me." Before Cletus left to find Quentyn and the Golden Company, he added: "Oh, and your wolf watches."

Robb was not too far off, watching them as he cinched a destrier's saddle girth. As Rhaenys approached him, he seemed amused as he did annoyed. "He's in love with you," he remarked as she stood by him. "We spoke, and I saw it in his eyes when he spotted you." Rhaenys pressed her lips together, as her suspicion was finally given voice (by her husband, of all people).

"He'll get over it," she decided, stroking the horse's neck.

"Well... I should not fault him, considering a girl such as yourself."

Rhaenys scrunched her nose; Robb secured the girth with a final tug and leaned in to kiss her cheek; she felt tears that weren't hers upon her face. "I missed you," Robb sighed. "You, and everything about you."

Overwhelmed, Rhaenys wrapped her arms around his neck. "You are mine, as I am yours," she murmured, looking out to the sky, as blue as her king's eyes. "And death was a fool for trying to banish my heart and the rest of me from you."

\---

They left the dell before evenfall, attempting to outrace Maester Jurne's promises of a harsh frost. But when they finally reached Storm's End, the air had gone terribly cold, turning their breath to pale fog. The emerging eastern light illuminated the rimy trees and undergrowth, the verdurous now bound in ice. Rhaenys hardly had a thought to see the beauty of it all; she was weary and shivery. Robb had been the first to notice; as soon as they rode into the gates of the stronghold, he hastened off of his horse to help her from Maiden's saddle. "You've done your duty," he told her, leading her from the freezing courtyard and into the warmth of the castle. "Rest now."

"It that the king's command?" Rhaenys asked, smiling and shivering.

"It's his hope, knowing how stubborn his queen is." 

Before she could retort, the echo of small bootsteps stopped her. Awake and surely curious of Storm's End sudden disturbance, Tyrion Lannister abruptly halted before them. Robb stiffened, as though he took the dwarf for a ghost; or perhaps something worse.

"Well," Tyrion uttered, his mismatched eyes wide. "I wasn't expecting this…"

Robb would have lunged at the Lannister, had it not been for Rhaenys; she grabbed his arm and quickly stood between him and the astonished dwarf. Robb glared at Tyrion with such a malice that even Rhaenys couldn't recognize. "It's alright, Robb," she said calmly. Even in the dim torchlights, his blue eyes seemed colder, as if they had frozen over and trapped light beneath. Such eyes could have easily terrified anyone else.

"What is he doing here?!" He demanded.

Rhaenys bit her lip. Though she possessed no such powers, she knew what Robb was thinking. The Lannisters, who had murdered his father, took his sister, scattered his family, and gave their wretched regards. "To help us," she replied.

" _Help us?_ " Robb repeated. "Rhaenys, after everything the Lannisters had done _to_ us--"

"I know, Robb. Gods, I _know!_ But when had Tyrion borne any of those wrongs?"

Lord Tyrion spoke at last, having shaken off a silver of his astonishment. "I came to Her Grace's company in Pentos. She would have without a doubt strangled my life's breath from me if she too hadn't been impeded. Yet, my very breath proves that she had long cleared me of charges. Do you not trust your lady-wife?"

Rhaenys found herself digging her fingers into Robb's arm as she tightened her grip. "And my sister?!" He challenged. "What about Sansa?"

"I have never laid a finger upon your sister. Do you think Queen Rhaenys would've allowed me to my life if Sansa claimed otherwise? " Tyrion replied impatiently.

Robb said nothing else, and Rhaenys quietly pardoned them from Tyrion's presence and led him to her given chamber. A servant had lit the hearth, and the room was bathed in a much welcomed warmth. The curtains were still drawn, keeping out the first of the cold morning light. She closed the door quietly, looking upon Robb as she peeled away her gloves. He was gazing into the fire, most of his rage already evanesce.

"Robb--"

"I trust your reasons," he replied, glancing at her before returning to the roaring hearth. To Rhaenys' relief, the cold look had thawed. She sat at the edge of the bed, tugging off her boots before unraveling her knotted braid with trembling fingers. "I've long forgotten what mercy even looked like," Robb spoke again, leaving the fire to sit next to her. "That only makes a man cruel."

"What are you talking about? You're not cruel."

He took her hand in his, skimming his thumb along the lines of her palm. "You know what happened at the Twins." He looked from her hand and into her eyes. "You saw me die, didn't you Rhae?"

She nodded, biting her lip. 

"I woke beside the river, surrounded by the bannerless brothers. A man called Beric Dondarrion...he gave up his life to return me to the world."

Lord Beric Dondarrion. Six times brought back from death by Thoros of Myr. Ned Dayne said that Lord Beric had been separated from the rest of them. "The last kiss," Rhaenys realized softly, forever grateful to a man that neither of them knew.

Robb's brow furrowed. "How did you--"

"I didn't survive the wedding, Robb," she murmured. "I died there, just as you did. And Thoros of Myr made his choice, as Lord Beric made his."

"Thoros of Myr," he repeated, his voice fraught with shame. "I bore steel in his presence, in Riverrun's halls."

"He was never slighted, and was willing to return you to me."

Robb brushed Rhaenys' loose curls behind her shoulder. "Had Thoros seen my fate in his fires…I doubt he would have"

She laced her fingers into his. "A foolish thing to say," she remarked.

"I thought you were dead, Rhaenys," Robb said bitterly. "And I couldn't bare the thought of any guilty man being left to his life when they had taken yours, and that of our child, my mother and my father. So I took my vengeance, and hung them from the trees for the crows to feed on. Men and boys, knowers and watchers. It didn't matter, so long as they were dead."

Was it his revelation that made her blood run cold, or the little remorse he bore? Robb once beheaded his own bannerman because he had killed two boys, claiming their role in deaths they hadn't even known. As much as Rhaenys desired the slaughter of any one who held the names Lannister, Frey, and Bolton, she never did act upon it. She allowed a Lannister into her company. She left the woman who was both Walder Frey's daughter and Roose Bolton's wife to her life and child. She even forgave two Greyjoys despite their brief but costly ravages in the North and Winterfell. But to think that Robb had chosen such a dark way...

"Even seeing you alive before me…" Robb spoke. "I don't regret what I did. But... I won't ask you to forgive me for it." In the glow of the firelight, his eyes were misty. "Perhaps it is wrong of me to touch you with a hangman's hands..."

But Rhaenys brought his hand to her lips, kissing it. They had been apart for too long, and she loved him too much. "If I can forgive a Lannister, then I will certainly forgive you."

"Rhaenys--"

"Even I had hoped to burn King's Landing to the ground, to show the world how it felt to lose all that I loved."

"I _know_ you would never do that, not while children slept in the villages at the castle's feet, or while their mothers sang them songs and fathers watched over them. You've too just and good of a heart for that, despite what you think yourself to be."

"And _you_ ," Rhaenys insisted. "You've known more days in light than in shadow."

She grasped his shirt and pulled him against her, touching her brow to his. Robb sighed sadly, cradling her cheek tenderly. "Ah, Rhaenys. I don't deserve you."

"That's for me to decide."

She gazed at him poignantly, thinking about what seemed like a thousand years ago, when there was no war, no sorrow, no death. Caving into her brown eyes, Robb slid his hand upon the back of her neck, bringing her mouth to his. Rhaenys' own hand was twined in his auburn hair as a year's worth of hunger gnawed at her. He arched into her, skimming his hand from her bodice to her hip and pressing her back against the bed. She crooked her knee, allowing him to deftly curl his hand around her ankle.

"You once told me it was a sin to truly tame a dragon," Robb said, his hand beneath her skirts as he trailed his fingers along her calf and thigh.

"If you succeed, my love, i'll make sure you are atoned," Rhaenys replied coyly. Robb grasped the waist of the woolen hose she wore underneath her riding dress and pared it from her legs. He pressed his fingertips into her bare thigh and her breath hitched. It was said that dragons were fire made flesh, and in that moment, it seemed that so was she.

"Precious wild thing," Robb breathed. "I wouldn't dare."

Rhaenys tempted him with a wolfish kiss, and he dug his nails into her flesh in response, dragging a path to the hem of her smallclothes. When he brushed his thumb against the damp fabric that separated him from her heat, Rhaenys gasped against his mouth. Her heart was beating in her throat, cheating her of breath. She ran her nails down his back, as if to tear a way through his clothing and skin. Suddenly, Robb withdrew his hand from beneath her skirts, and she made her displeasure known with a soft nip upon his bottom lip. She felt him smile against her teeth.

"I know better than to starve a dragon," he promised, lowering his head to grace her neck with open mouth kisses and reaching to unfasten her dress. Before long, Rhaenys' riding gown was replaced with her name-day one. Robb stole down to her belly to softly kiss her scar; a thing no bigger than her little finger, furrowed and red. Rhaenys gently tugged on one of his curls.

"Turnabout is fair play," she said with a teasing smile and her wolf prowled back to her mouth, allowing her to wrench away his boiled leathers. 

Robb's scars were deep crimson against his pale skin. One was slit into his flank, a second on his chest. Rhaenys traced the third one over his heart; she felt his whetted heartbeat beneath her fingertips. " _Valar morghulis_ ," she murmured. "All men must die, and women too...but first, we will live."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got lazy over christmas, so sorry about that. Also, happy new year!
> 
> I can't write anything smutty, for the life of me.


	61. the queen and the king

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was knights of winter, not summer, that Rhaenys needed. That all the realm would soon need."

It was a little past midday when Rhaenys woke. It wasn't a nightmare that roused her with cold hands, as what often happened. Rather, they were warm hands, gentle and callused and familiar, tracing the scar on her back. It was a wonderful feeling to know what Robb was there, real, and alive. "You should have woke me sooner," she murmured sleepily, nestling into him. "It's a war out there, you know."

He nuzzled her hair. "You needed rest."

The hearth's fire had long burned out and the chamber was pitch-dark. Only the daylight glowed dimly from the edges of the window drapes. Annoyed at the darkness, Rhaenys drew away from Robb and stumbled from the bed. "What are you doing?" He protested gently, pushing himself onto an elbow. 

Rhaenys walked to the window, fumbling with the curtain as she tugged it aside. The glass was covered in frost, obscuring the pale grey skies and waters that rolled outside. Still, light poured into the room. And cold-- she could feel its teeth nip her bare skin. "I want to see you," she said, turning away from the dreary waters of Shipbreaker Bay and back to him. A streak of daylight illumined his face as he sat up. His azure eyes shown like a sunlit sea, but dark shadows ringed them as well. She wondered if he even slept through the morning as she did. 

Rhaenys came away from the window, returning to the warm bed. Robb took her into his arms at once, one hand at the small of her back, the other at her nape and hair. "Keep still, love," he breathed. "Let me listen."

"Listen to what?"

"Your breath and heartbeat. It's as precious to me as the rest of you is."

They were both scarred and worn and heartsore. Before he had died before her eyes, she was dying before his. Rhaenys understood, and pressed her cheek onto his scarred shoulder, her own hands at his back and nape. A touch of dread came to her heart, one that was sure to stay. Neither of them were safe. The Red Wedding could easily come to be again, in some way or another. Rhaenys closed her eyes. She was the blood of the dragon, but her heart was still mortal, her flesh still womanly, and her fears quite earthly. 

She felt Robb press his lips to her temple. "I was seven when Father said I was to wed you," he murmured into her skin. "Neither of us had a choice in the matter-- but had it come to choice, i'd make sure it was you again."

Rhaenys opened her eyes, smiling sadly into his neck. "I'm sure you would've had a quieter life without me."

He drew away, and his hand flitted from the back of her neck to her cheek. "Quieter life be damned. I want you, Rhaenys."

Nothing else mattered. Not the fear or dread. Not Dragonstone or King's Landing. Not the war or her throne. All those things and more had preyed on her mind for long enough. She could be the hunter, selfish for that moment, and for many more moments as she desired. "You're mine," she said vehemently. "Nothing in this world could change that."

\---

Rhaenys hadn't seen Jon Connington since she returned to Storm's End, but she didn't have to wait to share a word with him. She had only finished her bath when a servant girl told her that Lord Connington was waiting for her in the great hall. He remained behind at the castle to hone the plan to retake Dragonstone, with Tyrion scouring the library for whatever might help. Rhaenys knew better than to tarry, though she would have rather waited for Robb. 

Only Lord Connington sat in the hall, staring up at the great etched window; it was completely frosted over. "Been years since i've felt such a cold," he said, as Rhaenys entered the chamber. "Or perhaps this is the first." She walked over to him, taking a seat next to him. 

"It will only get colder," she remarked. 

Lord Connington grunted. "Dark days, when a summer child speaks of winter." His pale blue eyes seemed to search her. "Well. The Lannister told me your husband had returned from the dead."

Rhaenys rested her hands upon the table and laced her fingers together. "You can say that…what else did Tyrion have to say?" He knew what peace Robb had for him. 

" _Long live the king_ ," the lord recounted. "But I understand love as I do hate. I'm pleased to know that he has returned to you." 

Rhaenys brushed a stray hair away from her face. What more could she say? All Lord Connington knew about her love for Robb was her misery and rage when she thought he was gone. "I knew him as a child. I stood taller and older, and it seemed silly to think I was to wed him. I thought to be gracious, when he became my friend-- that was better than marrying a stranger. But…then I came to love him. Deeply and perhaps a bit madly." She stared at Lord Connington, hoping he might understand. "Grieving never made me weak. It only made me angry; or maybe that came to be because I rejected frailty."

"Righteous men have claimed that love brings the death of duty. Perhaps they weren't as righteous as they thought themselves to be." The Lord of Griffin's Roost seemed oddly mournful; a bit too much to be saying such words for the sake of it. Rhaenys had to wonder...

"Have you ever loved someone?" She blurted. 

There was a brief moment of only the fire crackling and the winds baying. "Once," Lord Connington finally said, keeping a calm face. "Then I rose too high, loved too hard, dared too much. I tried to grasp a star, overreached, and fell. I meant to prove myself worthy of trust, of love."

"Is it love if you have to prove it?" 

"In my instance, my queen, I thought it consequential." He shook his head, dismissing further word. "Enough of the past. It's the times to come we have to think about."

Lord Connington never spoke of the past, and Rhaenys thought wiser to not press him for more. "Have you spoken to Lord Stannis, then?"

"My liege-lord? He's just as hard and grim as I remember. A great wonder how you got him to kneel."

"Stannis' reign ended as mine began again. I could've just put a sword to his neck and be done with him, but that wouldn't have done any good. Not when there's still a war out there."

"Even I will admit that Stannis is a dutiful man. He'll serve you well."

Just then, the hall's door opened, and Robb's face was illumined by the torches flickering in the sconces by the door. Rhaenys couldn't help her smile, and Lord Connington certainly noticed. "So you're the Stark i've heard much about," Lord Connington uttered. 

Robb bowed his head respectfully, as the lord rose from his chair. "After the knighting, we will council," Lord Connington said to both of them, and he left the hall in what Rhaenys suspected to be a bit of a hurry. Robb paid him little heed, and walked over to her. 

"I thought he drank himself to death in Lys," he said, sitting in Lord Connington's vacant seat. "At least that's what I heard Ser Rodrik said."

"This castle is full of ghosts, it seems," Rhaenys mused. Robb smiled sadly and held up his hand. A silver chain hung from his fingers, and Rhaenys immediately recognized it. "Where did you find _that_?" She asked hushedly. Her chain of blue roses. She thought the Freys had taken it from her corpse. 

Robb leaned forward and fastened it around her neck, his hand brushing her nape gently. "Jaime Lannister," he replied darkly.

Rhaenys stiffened in her own seat and Robb reached to take her hand. " _Jaime?!_ " She repeated. She knew he had returned to King's Landing, almost a moon after Joffery's death. That's what Tyrion told her, and she didn't care to know anything more. The last she had seen the Kingslayer, he was humming that horrible song. 

"Grey Wind found him by the Trident," Robb explained as placidly as he could've, biting back rancor for her sake. "He was marching a host to Riverrun, to take it from the Blackfish. I was twice prepared to kill him. Then he gave me your necklace, and claimed that my mother was still alive."

For a moment, Rhaenys brightened. Catelyn Stark alive? But Robb shook his head and squeezed her hand gently. "I had a sword at his throat, Rhae. He would have said anything. And I would have plunged the steel into his bloody neck, had it not been for Harwin." 

"Harwin was with you?" She thought he was killed in King's Landing, with the rest of Lord Stark's guard. 

"With the brotherhood, actually. He asked Lord Beric to…to bring me back. Yet, he allowed the Kingslayer to get away." 

But Rhaenys' thoughts were still with Lady Stark. "You believed Stannis when he said I was alive."

"I did. Only because he promised me his head if he were lying."

 _But what if Jaime wasn't?_ Rhaenys thought to herself. Then again, he might have spent the very last of his honor to release his little brother from the black cells. Besides, if Lady Stark did live, Tyrion would have mentioned it; to her and to Sansa. She sighed, and rested her cheek upon her hand. "I get confused, sometimes. About what is right, what is wrong, and what is madness."

"What wrong and madness could you have possibly done?" Robb asked. "Everything that came to be was because you've done something right."

Rhaenys scrunched her nose in amusement. "What if I told you I pretended to be a bastard for nearly three months?"

Robb furrowed his brow, and looked so bemused that Rhaenys laughed, light and free as she used to.

"What for?" He smiled.

Her hand fell from her cheek to her lap, and she leaned closer to him. ""Safest way to hide, wouldn't you say?"

"Let me guess. A bastard with noble blood?"

"...How did you know?" 

"It's obvious that you're noble-born, Rhae." 

"Obvious?" Rhaenys echoed.

Robb reached out to softly and playfully poke the tip of her nose with his fingertip. "Obvious," he affirmed. 

Somewhere outside, a dragon sang, loud and above the wind. Both looked to the frosted window as if they thought to see the creature hovering beyond it. Rhaenys' gaze was quick to return to Robb's wondering face. She smiled again, and kissed his cheek. "There's someone I want you to meet," she said.

\---

They stood at the horn of Durran's Point, overlooking the hostile waters of Shipbreaker Bay. As Sonaral landed before them, the heat of her scales scattered the frost in the grass like raindrops. She purred loudly, bowing her head to allow Rhaenys to stroke her snout. Her ice-blue eyes flitted to Robb, watching him curiously rather than maliciously. Rhaenys felt as Robb brushed against her shoulder. "Remember Old Nan's story about Vermax?" She asked him.

"Aye."

She only had to look at Robb knowingly. His brow furrowed as he realized where the dragon had come from. "The eggs in the crypts? You mean... the lackwit had been right?"

Rhaenys smiled. "Her egg was the only to have survived, after hundreds of years."

Robb reached out to Sonaral, placing his hand over Rhaenys' first, before brushing against the dragon's scales. Sonaral didn't flinch or growl, as she did when some others tried to touch her. "She likes you," Rhaenys remarked.

"I'm glad for that. I'd hate to be the man she didn't like." 

The dragon shrieked, unfurling her wings before taking flight, looking like a storm cloud in the pale sky. These days, Sonaral was always hungry. Hungry and growing quickly. Perhaps in another year, she would be large enough to mount and ride. "Where does she hunt?" Robb asked, watching as Sonaral vanished from their sight.

"Either the sea or in the mountains," Rhaenys replied. Sonaral acquired a taste for fish while in Essos, but it wasn't unusual for her to return to the caves beneath Durran's Point with a stag or a mountain goat. She had yet to taste a man's blood, and Rhaenys couldn't help but worry for the day she did. 

Rhaenys stared out into the waters until Robb suddenly and quickly pardoned himself, treading a path down the soft slope. She turned around to insist for what he was doing and saw Lord Connington, his longsword at his hip. "When you are ready, Your Grace," he called out, before walking away.

Neither Rhaenys or Robb had ever witnessed a knighting ceremony. She heard of rites that involved an aspiring knight sitting a night's vigil before the Warrior in a sept, donning a shift of undyed wool, and walking barefoot from the sept to his knighting place to prove his humble heart. Sometimes, a septon would anoint them with seven holy oils. But Cletus Yronwood said that any knight could make a knight; so long as they felt a sword upon their shoulder, that was all what mattered. 

Rhaenys couldn't help but think of Bran, who dreamed of knighthood as Rolly did. She folded her arms and gazed back to Shipbreaker Bay. Bran would be twelve now, if he still lived. Upon her return to Winterfell, Osha the wildling had said Hodor and Howland Reed's children, Meera and Jojen, had gone north with Bran. And Summer, of course. Rhaenys told herself that if Bran was alive and Summer was with him, she wouldn't have to be afraid. And if Arya still lived and Nymeria was with her, Rhaenys still wouldn't have to be afraid. The wolves were always more than just wolves... 

"Easy now, wolf, i'm a friend!" Tyrion Lannister insisted. Rhaenys looked over her shoulder and saw Grey Wind looming over the dwarf. In the soft short grass and rush of the water against the cliff, she hadn't heard either of them. The direwolf's hackles were raised, but he wasn't growling or bearing teeth. Rhaenys took that as a good sign. 

"Grey Wind," she called out. He retreated to her side, and playfully nipped at her fingers. 

Tyrion exhaled in relief, brushing off his surcoat as if brushing away his fluster. "He was a pup the last I saw him," he remarked. "If he appears monstrous to the rest of the men, you can imagine what he looks like to me."

"Give him time," Rhaenys said, stroking the wolf's neck. "He knows the scent of Lannister men. It might be some time before he gets use to you."

"I'll know if he never does." He looked to the wolf once more, before returning his gaze to her. "Look at you. Dragons and direwolves are just kittens and puppies to you, aren't they?" 

"Except with more teeth and sharper claws," Rhaenys replied. She looked over to the soft slope where Robb had gone. "My lord, about Robb--"

"He's alive." Tyrion said. "A man can be so lucky to witness a single miracle in his life, and I already lost count of how many i've seen."

Rhaenys wanted to tell him that Robb would surely come to trust him one day, but even she wasn't as sure. "He trusts my trust in you," she said.

"That'll be enough for me." Tyrion looked over to where Lord Connington was waiting. "Shall we, Your Grace?"

"I'm waiting for Robb."

"Of course." 

Just as Tyrion left, Robb returned to her with a small bunch of tiny white flowers. "Snow brides," he said. "I didn't think they grew this far south." Snow-white flowers that smelled like honey. Rhaenys knew them to grow in northern meadows; there was never a wedding in the North without them. It was little wonder how the wildflowers survived the frost. Rhaenys smiled bashfully as Robb offered her most of the flowers; the rest he tucked into the pleats of her braided hair. Little girls could keep their stories of handsome and noble knights-- Robb was more handsome and noble than any of them.

They ambled to where a small crowd was starting to gather-- a wider lea along Durran's Point, with Storm's End looming behind them. The crowd formed a half-circle around Lord Connington and the men he was to knight; Rolly, Franklyn Flowers, Tristan Rivers, and Marq Mandrake. Rolly had no second name to honor, but he was quick to choose one for himself. "Duckfield, Your Grace," he replied, when Rhaenys asked him. "Before the cold came, there were ducks roaming about here." Several men snorted in quiet laughter, but Rhaenys just smiled. She knew Rolly had dreamed long enough for this moment.

Lord Connington bade Rolly to kneel first, and slid his sword out of his sheath. He touched the blade to the man's right shoulder. "In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave.” The sword moved from his right shoulder to his left. “In the name of the Father I charge you to be just.” Then back to the right. “In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent.” The left again. “In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women."

Lord Connington repeated the ceremony thrice more, passing his steel over the shoulders of the rest.

Then, all four men rose as knights.

They were knights of winter-- them and every knight to be made thereafter. What choice did they have? It was knights of winter, not summer, that Rhaenys needed. That all the realm would soon need. 

\---

By the time they returned to the castle, the knights' vows reminded Rhaenys of something else just as sacred, if not more. Her first thought was to ask Tyrion, perhaps well-learned enough to provide some sort of an answer-- and surely reasonable enough to not ask her too many questions. Before they were to take supper, she beseeched Tyrion for a word in the quiet corridor. "Is something the matter, Your Grace?" He asked.

"I'm not sure as yet," Rhaenys replied. "Maybe you can help me."

"As with everything, I shall do my best."

"Vows made before the gods end at our deaths," she said carefully. "Including marriage…"

"Quite so."

That was what she was afraid of. 

Tyrion gave her a sly smile. "You've naught to worry about, Your Grace, as your husband's death had been fallacy-- and yours, for that matter."

Rhaenys forced a kind smile. "Of course, my lord."

Only a few people in the world knew what truly happened. Men of the bannerless brotherhood. Her and Robb. Jon Snow. Still, Rhaenys was unsettled. "But even if departed lovers returned to this world, what would they make of themselves?"

"A good question," Tyrion mused. " _From this day to the end of their days_ …well, death is the end, is it not?"

It was. Even as fleeting as hers was, it was an end. Rhaenys gently plucked at her chain of winter roses. "Then we should be glad that we don't live in complicated world with even more complicated questions."

Tyrion gazed up at her. "Funny. I thought we already were." 

Rhaenys smiled and took her leave. She could feel Tyrion's eyes watch her as she left; even as small as he was, it was as if he had the eyes of a giant. 

She couldn't have walked more than a few feet when she found Robb standing in an alcove. She could tell that he had heard every word. He only seemed pensive. Rhaenys gazed up at him, not sure what to say. She thought to be amusing, and jest that she would have his bastards; but that wouldn't have been much of a jest, seeing it was more of a truth. Then, Robb smiled, softly. A knowing smile, always and only meant for her.He reached for her hand, taking it in both of his. 

"Marry me?" He asked.

\---

It was dusk when they reached the sept in the nameless village. The septon was one of the few to have remained; the smallfolk had long fled, desperate to avoid the blood and strife that the storm lords brooded upon. He was an old man, gnarled and grey, but he was kind of face. He asked no questions; he only smiled and blessed them.

In the tiny sept, the Seven was depicted in rough charcoal drawings upon the crooked and cracked white walls. The Father was bearded, his face stern. The Mother smiled, loving and protective. A crack ran down through her left eye, and made her look as if she were crying. Rhaenys and Robb stood between the Mother and Father, as they did years ago. The torches burned bright, sputtering and throwing flickers and shadows across the walls when the cold wind blew through the door. The light reached Robb's already sparkling eyes; they glowed like a summer sea. Rhaenys smiled, blinking back tears. She was his bride once again. There were no cloaks, no familiar faces. No finery or flowers (expect for the tiny white ones still in her hair). It was only them, their love, and the eyes of the gods… 

The septon didn't have to ask them to join hands; they hadn't broken their hold on each other since stealing away from the castle. He tied them together with a white ribbon. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words."

"Father, Smith, Warrior…"

"...Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…"

"...I am hers and she is mine…" 

"...I am his and he is mine…" 

"...From this day until the end of my days."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I ended up having them get married again. Just in case.
> 
> You never know with these things.


	62. the daughters of winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack survives.

_She was flying. High and mighty, above the white hills and frozen river. A weak dawn had broken, but a little light was better than none. She flew above the wolfswood, her shiny black talons skimming the snow-dusted tree tops. She heard the black shadow before she saw him, hurling himself through the woods. He was hungry-- as was she._ Go to the river shore _she wanted to tell him._ I saw a stag. He fell through the ice. Drag him from the water and I can help tear the rimy flesh. _But before she could cry out to the wolf, she awoke._

Sansa opened her eyes and saw only the dark canopy of her bed-- her parents' bed. She pushed herself onto an elbow, her eyes bleary from her hasty awakening. Outside her window, something shrilled. Sansa carefully eased herself from the mattress, feeling as clumsy as a new born fawn. She walked to the window, tugging the heavy curtains aside. A new layer of frost had glazed over the glass during the night, obscuring her view from the world. Sansa swept her hand across the glass, hoping to espy what had called out. 

_Silverwing_. The gyrfalcon was perched upon the stone sill, not at all bothered as the cold winds ruffled her mottled feathers. Sansa had been glad when the bird suddenly reappeared in Winterfell, along with Shaggydog. The coal-black direwolf returned to Rickon, missing an ear and bearing several scars along his flank. As Rickon cried and clutched onto his wolf, Silverwing roosted in a nearby tree, watching them-- searching for Rhaenys, without a doubt. 

Sansa sighed, etching a star onto the frosted glass with her finger. When she was younger and whenever the windows frosted over with ice, she would draw stars onto them and tell Arya to count them, to help better her sums. Arya. Her scruffy and annoying little sister. Sansa missed her more than she could've ever imagined. 

She turned away from Silverwing, from the snowy-world, and sat at the edge of her bed. Rickon was Lord of Winterfell, but still very much a child; more so than Bran was he was lord in Robb's stead. _Let him play and learn to laugh again_ Littlefinger said. _You're lady here_. Sansa knew in her heart of hearts that this was not the time for a child to rule. But she wished Lord Baelish wasn't so adamant about it. 

She wished he wasn't in Winterfell, at all. 

He claimed that his stay was for _her_ sake. To help her rule. When Sansa coldly told him that she learned from watching her father and mother, Littlefinger only smiled. He smiled plenty-- a curve of his lips that never matched the light in his eyes. _Act like a Lady of Winterfell_ Sansa begged to herself everyday. _Demand for him to leave._ Yet, she never did. Perhaps it was wiser to keep him close, where she could watch him as the gyrfalcon watched Winterfell...

 _Every time I'm faced with a decision_ Petyr Baelish told her, when they were alone in the godswood. _I close my eyes and see the same picture. Whenever I consider a question, I ask myself 'Will this action make this picture a reality', pull it out of my mind and into the world...and I only act if the answer is yes. A picture of me on the Iron Throne, and you by my side._

\---

Before she broke her fast, Sansa hurried to the maester's turret-- but just as there were no maesters, there were still no ravens. It was likely that any ravens and letters from Rhaenys were lost in the winter winds; yet Sansa was frustrated and worried as she trudged down the tower's stone stairs. At the foot of the stairs, Jon Snow was waiting anxiously, his furs and dark hair dusted in snowflakes. "Any word from Rhae?" He asked, his grey eyes soft as fog.

Sansa shook her head. "Either she's still at Storm's End, or she left for Dragonstone…" She found herself praying; _let it be either of the two, and nothing else…_

"I plan to leave for White Harbor as soon as I can," Jon announced, brushing the snow from his self. "The snowfall has stopped for the time being. The horses can handle the journey." He looked at her and smiled kindly. "And I wouldn't want to miss any of Lord Manderly's ships."

But Sansa clasped her fingers together, staring at her bastard brother. "Whether Dragonstone is won or lost, Cersei will stop at nothing until Rhaenys is dead."

"I know," Jon said, his smile dying. "And once Rhaenys is within my sight, I will make sure she lives a long life."

 _A lonely life,_ Sansa thought, remembering Rhaenys' grief. _Regardless._

Then, from atop the maester's turret, a raven squawked and it echoed down hollow tower. Sansa's eyes widened in surprised and she hurried to apex, taking two steps at a time. Sure enough, a large and agitated raven awaited at the broken window, its message tied on his foot. Jon had been at her heels and looked on anxiously as Sansa broke the letter's wax seal (a black crowned stag). It was the first three words, written in Rhaenys' hand, that caused Sansa to shriek:

_Robb is alive._

\---

It was on purpose, the trail of blood in her wake. She wasn't so stupid or careless to have done so otherwise. The blood was the raven, and the waif was the message. 

In the flickering shadows in the Hall of Faces, Arya waited with Needle. She hadn't been so angry since she fled Riverrun, when she knew that her family had been betrayed and murdered. When he heard word of the coming Frey men, The Blackfish had told her to hide, just as Syrio Forel told her to flee. And Arya did more than hide; she learned her lesson at King's Landing. She fled, with Needle and Nymeria to anywhere. But her time to hide did come, as she told her loyal direwolf. Arya, a girl with a direwolf, was far from no one; she didn't have to throw a single stone to get the grown wolf to leave her. _I'll see you again_ she promised, clutching Jaqen H'ghar's coin in her sweaty hand.

Across the Narrow Sea, to Braavos, to the House of Black and White. She was Cat, she was Beth, she was Lanna, she was Mercy. But it was when she was Mercy, that Arya heard the rumors; a dragon in the west. She had heard of the queen, in the eastern city of Meereen (who in Essos hadn't?), and her three dragons. _No, this one is different_ she heard a mummer say to his companion. _As is its mother. From what I heard, she hasn't silver for hair._ Arya knew that only the Targaryens had ever hatched and cared for dragons, and she knew the Queen of Meereen to be the only Targaryen left in the whole world…

 _Dragon mother?_ Arya--or rather, Mercy-- had asked the mummers. _What'd she look like?_

 _Heard she looked like the Black Pearl of Braavos,_ one of them replied. _Could be her, for all we know. Claims she's the blood of a dragon king._ The he laughed, as if he told a marvelous jest. 

The Black Pearl of Braavos was a courtesan named Bellegere Otherys. Cat once sold three cockles to the lovely woman, who paid ten times what they were worth. Lanna remarked that the "Brown Pearl" would have better suited Bellegere Otherys' dusky skin. But Arya Stark had known a true-born Targaryen with the Black Pearl's coloring, and the blood of dragon kings and queens-- and she was long dead. Yet, as Arya slept her pain away in Lady Crane's bed, she dreamed otherwise; Rhaenys-- lovely and lonely, standing atop a snowy hill with a great scaled and winged creature. It was very different from a previous night's dream, when Arya was a wolf again-- unafraid and attacking a host that flew red-and-gold banners. In the corner of her eye, she saw a red-haired woman with pale scars running down her pallid face like tears. She also saw a tall man with dirty white hair, his blue eyes wide in surprise...

Arya watched as Jaqen entered the hall, his steps precise and his brow slightly furrowed. His footsteps echoed softly throughout the stone halls as he followed the raven. Only when he stopped to look upon the message, did she step out from the shadows. "You told her to kill me," Arya accused calmly, Needle raised. 

Jaqen turned away from the waif's torn and bloody face, crudely mounted upon the wall with the rest, and looked upon hers. "Yes," he replied, as calm as she was. "But here you are, and there she is."

Arya pressed Needle's point into his shirt, over his heart. Her mouth was slightly agape as though she were a wolf bearing teeth. Yet, Jaqen only gazed at her. "Finally," he proclaimed. "A girl is no one."

Was he pleased? Arya couldn't tell. He twice called for her punishment; once for killing Raff the Sweetling and second for failing to kill Lady Crane. But Lanna wasn't the killer, nor was Mercy the merciful; only ever Arya. Arya avenged Lady Crane, and Arya killed the waif who murdered her. Arya avenged Lommy, and killed the brute that drove a spear into his neck. Arya, who was the daughter of Ned and Catelyn, sister to Robb, Sansa, Bran, Rickon, and Jon, and good-sister to Rhaenys. 

So she told him.

"A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell. And i'm going home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought i'd do a Sansa and Arya POV.


	63. the reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No other castle in Westeros compared to Dragonstone."

The dawn's light did its best to tryst with the stormwoods. The morning frost encased leaves and stones in caskets of ice and glimmered faintly like dying candles. Yet, the greenery prevailed, still not daunted by any talk of winter. The trees rose tall and dark green, gracing both sides of the musty path like sentinels. Rhaenys had tugged the mare's reins quite suddenly, halting in the middle of the trail. Her bearing would have taken her deeper into the woods, further away from Storm's End. She wanted to continue, but was afraid she would've never stopped. Robb eased his horse's pace as well, until he was close beside her. "We should go back now," he said. 

"Must we?" Rhaenys heard herself ask. She turned her head to look upon him; he seemed reluctant as well. 

"No," he replied softly, his breath like pale smoke in the frigid air. Rhaenys knew in her heart of hearts that was wrong. Once, Robb would've only smiled gently at her reluctance, before responding in an even gentler tone: _we must_. But death had changed him. He had grown as lean and hungry as his direwolf. Distrustful and even melancholic. Rhaenys had to wonder how deep the bloody Bolton had cut his heart. _Not deep enough_ she reminded herself, looking into Robb's gentle blue eyes. "We could keep going," he said. "Let them say it was my folly, that I was mad enough to take their queen somewhere they couldn't find her."

They would also say _like father, like daughter-- ran off with a Stark_. Rhaenys wouldn't have minded so much; she would've been too far away to hear them. But she only sighed wistfully. "We can't..i've always done my duty. We both have."

"Aye, and we were both betrayed and killed for it," Robb said bitterly. "I want you to have a long life, Rhaenys."

"We will," she promised, she hoped. Once they sailed to Dragonstone, once the tales of their deaths have been proven to be very exaggerated, the Lannisters would not allow them to their life's breath. "The sorrow of it, that I am not my mother. Nor am I my father. But all I ask of the gods who returned you to me, is all they had stolen from them. Them and the wolves that raised me."

" _You_ will take what's yours. The gods will watch."

Cold winds rattled the trees, a sound like beating rain. Maiden's stance shifted as she grew uneasy. Rhaenys stroked the horse's neck, frowning from her own unease

"This place reminds me of home," Robb said wistfully. 

She gazed up at him, sadness filling her like a flooding river. Snow was drifting when she left the North, laying a thick blanket upon the earth. When she had looked behind her for a last time, Winterfell rose from the ground like a snow castle; white towers and white statues against a silvery sky. Everything was white and dark and grey and silent. "Everything was beautiful. You'll see," Rhaenys said. "Enough to make even the coldest man forget about spring." 

"Well, spring came early for me," Robb said, before leaning forward to kiss her. Rhaenys felt her face grow pleasantly warm as she kissed him back. When they broke away, his face was rosy and she saw the boy in him; someone untouched by war and sorrows. "Race you back?" He asked.

"You can try," Rhaenys replied, and quickly spurred Maiden to a gallop. She heard Robb laugh, before attempting to catch up with her.

\---

The sea tossed _Meraxes_ gently as she led the journey north. Unfurled behind the war galley were nearly seventy ships, half the number of the true size of the fleet-- the other half was sailing from the coast Pentos. So far, the Narrow Sea had been kind to the queen and her navy, blessing them with clear horizons and sapphire waters. Rhaenys stood carefully atop the railing, keeping balance by gripping one of the heavy ropes of the ship's shrouds. They had been at sea for longer than a fortnight (as they took a lengthy way to Dragonstone), and she had grown restless. Robb stood close by, watching her with a worried look. "Rhae, please be--"

"Careful. I know." 

Rhaenys turned around, ready to leap onto the deck; before she could, Robb grabbed her by the waist and lifted her down gently. "I said please," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her and looking as stern as he could've. Rhaenys scrunched her nose at him, smiling coyly. The Wall would have melted before Robb was cross with her for longer than a day-- and he knew that well enough. "What do you watch the sea for?" He asked, returning her smile with a kiss upon her brow. "Merlings?"

"Krakens, actually."

The Iron Fleet was sure to cross their horizon soon enough, along with the rest of the Dornish and Myrish ships, as well as stragglers from the Golden Company. Growing anxious, Rhaenys buried her face into the crook of Robb's neck. No one had any idea of what awaited them at Dragonstone, but it was likely that Lannisters' and Tyrells' siege of the castle had gone in their favor. 

Stannis Baratheon had gathered a fair amount of men during his journey south, adding to his original forces-- close to sixteen hundred men. Prince Doran had raised another three thousand men, including sellswords from Myr. House Manderly pledged ships and men, though Rhaenys wouldn't know their numbers until she saw them. From the ironborn Asha had rallied came more than twenty-five hundred men. Last of all, the Golden Company…but only six ships, carrying half of the true strength of the company, had landed in the stormlands. The remaining four had yet to be accounted for, scattered by an Essosi storm, but Black Balaq had promised her that they would rejoin them quickly enough. _You've also a very large wolf and a half-grown dragon_ Cletus Yronwood had remarked. _Yes, but Targaryens with even bigger dragons had failed_ Rhaenys told him.

Suddenly, Robb stiffened. "There," he said quietly.

Rhaenys had all but forgotten the magnificence of the Iron Fleet. Every vessel of the fleet was at least three times the size of a normal longship; the twenty-five Asha had seized were no exception. Their sails were inky black and emblazoned with deep golden krakens; many had elegantly carved battering rams. They were true warships-- made for battle, not for raids. Rhaenys easily picked out the _Iron Vengeance_ , the ship Asha had chose to captain herself. 

Yet, she knew that Robb didn't see any kind of magnificence; he only saw the sigil of the man who betrayed him.She glanced up at him, and sure enough, his jaw was clenched in anger. Stannis had told him, about Theon and what happened at Winterfell with Bran and Rickon. Rhaenys did her best to explain why she forgave, how Theon helped her and Sansa, what Ramsay had done to him. Robb claimed he understood, just as he did with Tyrion-- but he was still angry. Rhaenys supposed that could not have been helped. She leaned on his shoulder, her heart heavy for what was yet to come.

\---

How many times had Rhaenys heard Robb call Theon his brother? The other way around? They both played on the steps of Winterfell's great keep, their wooden swords meeting as they pretended to be great warriors of old. Yet, as the Lady of the Iron Islands boarded _Meraxes_ with Theon at her side, it was hard to remember any of those times. Theon bore a weaker copy of his sister's wide smile, only to let it fall as he saw Robb. "R-Robb?!" He stammered, as he looked upon the man he betrayed and thought dead.

Grey Wind started to growl, and the next thing Rhaenys knew, Robb had lunged at Theon, his hand at the Greyjoy's throat as he pushed him back into a mast. Around them, men cursed and cried out; even Asha was taken by surprised. Before Rhaenys could rush towards them, Tyrion Lannister grasped and tugged at her wrist. "He'll kill him!" She breathed, easily wrenching her hand from him. 

"You believe that?" He replied, his emerald-green eye bright in the sunlight. "With you, standing here?"

"I…" Rhaenys trailed away. She wasn't sure of anything, not even of what Robb would do-- and that frightened her the most.

"Give him a chance," Tyrion said quietly. "He's your husband. You owe him that much."

Asha had been close enough to hear Tyrion's words, and the reason for her brother's sudden plight made all the more sense. Rhaenys looked on helplessly, as Theon's pallid face twisted into an expression she couldn't name. " _Why?_ " She heard Robb ask, his back to her. His voice was quiet, angry, and hurt. But Theon only clutched at the hands at his throat, and made no signs of trying to pry them away.

"Y-You're alive," he murmured. 

"Somehow, so are you!" Robb spat, digging his fingers into Theon's neck. 

"Robb!" Rhaenys pleaded, just as Theon spoke again.

"I b-betrayed you!" He choked out. "I became a b-bastard in my father's eyes. I wanted to be.. h-his son again. An i-iron born son. But I rotted in the… in the D- Dreadfort and my father did nothing! I know y-your father would have done s-something. If I did n-not betray you... you w-would have done something. I... made a choice and I chose wrong!"

"My mother warned me," Robb lamented bitterly. " _Never trust a Greyjoy_. Now she's dead, Theon. My mother is dead! My brothers scattered because of you! Maybe it was a blessing that my father died before he heard of what you did at Winterfell!" At last, he glanced over his shoulder to look at Rhaenys; the anger he bore when he saw Tyrion at Storm's End paled to his wrath in that moment. Rhaenys shook her head in a silent plea. Things had changed, and she would refuse to let Robb kill a man he once called brother. 

Robb's brow furrowed, and he returned his gaze to Theon. "All I want is a life with Rhaenys. I want to help her rule, hear her laugh, and watch her children grow. Try and take that from me, and I will kill you, Theon." He roughly released Theon and allowed him to slump onto the deck. As Robb walked away, he met eyes with no one, not even Rhaenys. 

The air became deathly still despite the sea wind that blew. Rhaenys hurried over to Theon, kneeling beside him as he trembled violently. He was Reek again. "He's alive," he said, again and again. Asha knelt next to her brother, looking to Rhaenys. 

"Go to your wolf," she said. "Gentle him before he thinks to try his teeth again."

 _Robb isn't like that_ Rhaenys wanted to protest. Instead, she heeded Asha's words, nearly stumbling as she stood. Many eyes followed her as she hurried away to find Robb. She found him at the stern of the galley, his back towards her as he gazed out into the waters. "Robb," she said, but he still wouldn't look at her. "Robb, listen to me. We've enough wars to deal with. We already have enough enemies. There's no use making more amongst ourselves."

"Rhaenys," he said, his voice heavy. "Ask me for the stars and I will give them to you. But I will die again before I forgive Theon."

"Robb, you've seen him! He's not the same man who betrayed you, much less the boy we grew up with!"

"That's not enough! Even the Imp hadn't borne me such injuries. Theon had northern men at Winterfell killed. He murdered two boys in Bran's and Rickon's places."

"…You've killed boys, too." Rhaenys said quietly. "Is that not what you told me?"

She expected him to be angry, and even that didn't stay her words. But they were worth saying, when Robb finally turned around to look at her. "Will you hold that to me?" He asked, walking closer to her. He wasn't angry at all. Instead, he seemed uneasy; perhaps he feared for a day where she would spurn him for feasting the riverland crows.

"No," Rhaenys replied evenly. She would overlook a thousand hanging corpses for his sake. "I can't help the dead, Robb, but Winterfell still stands. Rickon is alive and safe, and I know in my heart that Bran is alive too. I have no right to ask you to forgive Theon, but what matters the most lies ahead of us, not behind." 

Robb gazed upon her, taking her hand and grazing her knuckles with his thumb. "I'm sorry for upsetting you," he said, kissing the top of her head. 

\---

Theon was standing at the railing, slightly hunched over as he stared down at the water. Asha stood with him, watching over her brother almost dutifully. "Alright, then?" She called out to Rhaenys. Rhaenys only nodded, joining them and softly grasping Theon's shoulder. His hand trembled as he placed it over hers. "Now that's done with," Asha remarked. "Can I trust the king to not attack my brother again?"

Rhaenys glanced at her. "Yes. On my honor."

"Good. Something I can rely on."

Rhaenys sighed, taking a moment to look upon the many ships scattered about. "Did Lord Velaryon come aboard yet?"

"I would think not, seeing he returned to Driftmark some time ago."

Rhaenys furrowed her brow. "He did what?"

"He did that," Asha affirmed. "Took one of the Myrish boats and traveled west under a trader's guise. He planned to rally the old houses sworn to the Targaryens." She leaned against the railing. "But Gerold Dayne and Manfrey Martell are certain that no house sworn to Dragonstone will come. They are so few, and could have gone over to the Boy King's side."

"What do you think?"

"I'm sure each one will be stumbling over their boots once they hear that a Targaryen is back on Dragonstone." 

\---

Only when the night drew its cloak upon the sea, did the queen's fleet begin its fateful descent upon Dragonstone. Not a single lantern had been lit; captains and commanders of their vessels relied on the new moon to illuminate their maps and battleplans. Rhaenys stood at _Meraxes'_ bow, her heart in her mouth as the castle finally came into sight. Tiny firelights from its towers and windows twinkled like stars, allowing her to see how extensive Dragonstone was. Located beneath the volcano Dragonmont, the stronghold looked as if it was carved from the same black stones. Towers had been hewed into the shapes of dragons, their twisted necks and elegant wings silhouettes against the sky. Long lost Valyrian magic was said to have brought the castle into life, and even in the dark. Rhaenys could catch glimpses of the rumor; there couldn't have been any other explanation. No other castle in Westeros compared to Dragonstone.

"Your Grace," Tyrion Lannister greeted her quietly. Rhaenys looked down upon him, at his solemn face. "It's time."

She nodded, breathing deeply to stay her fears. She and Tyrion made their way to the spar deck, where men were awaiting smaller boats to ferry them to the other warships. Lord Stannis, Ser Manfrey, and Asha were to lead three successive battlelines of fifteen ships each-- a vanguard of war ships. The Myrish vessels and smaller of the Martell ships would trail behind, waiting and hunting for chances to land upon the island.

Once more clad in ringmail and armor, Robb waited with them, his somber face softening when he saw her. Rhaenys ran to him, forgoing queenly dignity to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. She had done well to blink back tears, but now she was struggling. The world had suddenly become too large and too loud, and in the midst of it all, she was a little girl. A little girl with a dead mother and brother, hiding under a bed and crying for her dead father. Robb broke the kiss to look upon her. "Father once said there's no shame in fear," he said, skimming his thumb across her wet cheek. "How else would we know when to be brave?" 

"I'm afraid all the time," she admitted sadly.

"Then you're braver than you think."

Rhaenys placed her palm on his armor, over his heart. "Just come back," she murmured, gazing up at him with wide eyes. "That's all I ask of you." She couldn't lose him again; she wouldn't be able to bear it.

Robb smiled, cradling her cheek. "We'll see to the end of this damn war and go home."

Rhaenys sighed. "I've almost forgotten what it's like to have a home."

"We'll make a new one," he promised. "You and me."

A home. One of red stones, she supposed, if Sonaral didn't burned them all to ash and dust first. And children-- little boys and girls that looked like Tullys and Martells because their parents hardly bore any semblance to their fathers' names. It all sounded so sweet. 

Robb kissed her for a last time. "Watch for me, Rhae."

\---

 _Meraxes_ remained behind with a guard of six ships, the most Rhaenys was willing to allow. Her own guard was whoever was on the ship, and Grey Wind. The direwolf stood close to her as she watched the first battleline, under Stannis's command, descend upon the island. They hoped to lure enemy's ships out before the second and third battlelines swooped in. 

But before any warship could close in upon Dragonstone, a storm surely would first-- heavy clouds had rolled in and shrouded the moon. The seas grew rough, as did the winds. Tyrion looked up to _Meraxes'_ black and red sails, which started to ripple wildly. "The men on Dragonstone may just piss themselves when they see those things," he remarked. "Assuming they know what the Targaryen sigil looks like."

"If not, they'll learn soon enough," Rhaenys replied, tightening her grip on the far-eye a Dornish seaman had given her. 

Tyrion chuckled, looking up at her. "You realize this very night marks the return of the Targaryens?"

"There is no other Targaryen here, but me." 

"I was referring to their legacy, Your Grace." Tyrion said. "The last of the dragonlords, the sole survivors of the Doom of Valyria. They settled upon that very island before us, and changed the course of Westeroi history. It's fitting that your reconquest of Westeros starts at Dragonstone."

"The singers can thank me later," Rhaenys remarked, watching the vanguard of ships. Her eyes would also dart to the castle itself, waiting with bated breath for enemy ships to be launched. The rain began to fall, pelting upon them like arrows, and she heard Lord Connington curse. It was terribly dark, but no one dared to light even a candle.

"Make sure we don't drift into one of our own boats!" He shouted to a seaman.

Rhaenys swallowed hard, paying no heed to the rain. Her clothes and hair were drenched in little time, but her chill came from her thoughts. "Everything i've done up until this day, it could all be lost by sunrise," she said. Grey Wind bunted her hand with his hand, whining softly. Rhaenys rubbed his jaw, growing fretful as she lost sight of the Dornish ship were Robb was.

Tyrion however, appeared hopeful. "You have your armies, your ships, your king, your dragon-- everything else is yours for the taking," he said. "I haven't stopped believing in you. I'd even swear you my sword, but I don't actually own a sword."

"Well, i'm glad for that," Rhaenys remarked. "It's your counsel I need."

"It's yours," Tyrion vowed. "Now and always."

Up from the crow's nest, a man cried out: "Fifteen ships from Dragonstone!"

"Well, it's about to get interesting," Tyrion declared, peering over the railing. "Did I tell you Stannis asked me if I brought any wildfire? I think he tried to jest. Imagine that. Stannis Baratheon jesting."

"We don't need wildfire, Lord Tyrion," Rhaenys said, leaning over the railing." Sonaral!" She called out. The dragon had been flying low, close to the water, to avoid the sights of those at Dragonstone. She crooned and hovered over the ship's side. As Rhaenys pointed to the enemy ships, a flicker of anticipation bloomed in her pounding heart. " _Dracarys_."

The dragon shrieked above the growing storm and took to the sky at once. Rhaenys, Tyrion, and everyone aboard _Meraxes_ watched as Sonaral flew above the sea and sails, weaving in between them, her wings beating like peals of thunder. When she came to an enemy ship, she unleashed a cascade of her fire upon it. The galley was quickly engulfed in bright yellow and orange flames, the dragonfire bringing light to the tempestuous night. Sonaral shrieked again, soaring over another ship and setting it ablaze.

"Seven hells," Tyrion murmured. "I hope she knows which ships are her friends."

"She knows," Rhaenys assured him, watching as more ships were launched from the stronghold. As Sonaral set another ship alight, Rhaenys smiled to herself, small and prideful. 

"Over there!" Lord Connington shouted above the wind.

More ships, coming from the east and close enough for Rhaenys to count thirty of them. Despite the rain, she tried the far-eye. For a moment, she saw a glimpse of green, and feared they were Tyrell vessels. But she kept staring at them until she saw the sigil emblazoned upon the sails; a green haired and bearded merman wielding a trident. 

Rhaenys' heart leapt, and Grey Wind started to howl-- the North had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If nothing of the attack on Dragonstone makes sense to you, then…i'm sorry. Battleplans are not my thing. I got some ideas from the Battle of Blackwater, including a feasible (IMAO) number of ships and men Rhaenys might have.


	64. the dawn and the smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She never, not in a thousand years, would've thought this day to have been anything more than just a dream."

The rain fell harder, and Rhaenys grew more hopeful. In the distance, Sonaral's dragon song rose high above the storm as she set fire to another ship. There was enough light to illuminate the dark and watery battlefield-- enough raging firelight to light their way. Rhaenys flitted to _Meraxes'_ captain, a Summer Islander named Nalha. "Take us to Dragonstone," she told her, watching as the Manderly ships joined the Martells'.

"Aye, Your Grace," Nalha said, just as Lord Connington began to object. 

Rhaenys turned around quickly to face him, sweeping her wet hair away from her face. "Would you rather we drift about like a flock of half-drowned hens?" She asked impatiently. " _Meraxes_ is a war galley, just as the rest." 

"This is for your protection," he reminded her. "If this battle should be lost--"

"It won't be lost!" Rhaenys spat. "Those are _Lannister_ ships burning on the water! _Lannister_ men, whose last sight of the world was _my_ dragon! You will gather your men and give the rest of those Lannister men another distraction! Give the rest of our hosts a path to that island!"

Even in the wretched dark, she could see something change in Lord Connington's bloodshot eyes; even the lines at their corners furrowed as he smiled. He looked around them, at the men who gathered about them. "Bring the queen that island!" He shouted. "Only Tywin's men will drown in these waters tonight!" All the men gave hearty agreement, hurrying to see to the new heading. 

Scattered within the sight of Dragonstone were the Lannister ships, or at least what remained of them. The surviving crew were stranded in the water, helplessly and feebly swimming to pieces of the wreck; many of them bore terrible burns, their flesh blackened and blistered. Rhaenys swore she could've seen the white of bones gleaming in the light. A line of waiting archers released their arrows, aiming to kill and gift mercy. Rhaenys looked expectedly to the port, waiting for more ships to be launched; but they were none.

"No more ships," Tyrion realized. "Sonaral made sure of that. The battle belongs to land now."

Suddenly, Grey Wind snarled, leaping from Meraxes and into the water. "Grey Wind!" Rhaenys cried out, watching as the wolf effortlessly treaded towards the shore.

"Gone to join his master," Tyrion claimed. "I guess he finally trusts me enough with your keeping."

\--- 

Just as dawn broke upon the horizon, a wolf began to howl. Rhaenys knew that song well enough-- the battle was over.

 _Meraxes_ anchored and launched a final rowboat. Towering above was the castle of Dragonstone, growing ever more monstrous as they came closer to it. Even more monstrous was Dragonmont, the volcano that rose even higher than the fortress. A ridge of black stone served as the castle's outer walls. Despite the light of the magnificent sunrise, a somberness rested upon the castle like a dreary fog. Or perhaps that was really the pale grey steam that drifted from the living volcano, carrying with it the faint smell of brimstone. A man was standing at a well weathered stone quay-- Monford Velaryon, waiting for them with a wide smile upon his fair face. "Queen Rhaenys," he grinned, as Lord Connington brought the boat to a halt. 

"Lord Velaryon," Rhaenys greeted in kind, allowing him to help her from the small boat. 

The morning had also casted light upon the black-sanded beaches. She looked to the western shores, to the small villages scattered about the foot of Dragonstone; they were dark and still. To her relief, they had remained untouched by the fray. "This way," Lord Velaryon urged, and they followed him towards the looming castle. Smaller ragged peaks rose around their path. There was only one road, a wide and trodden one of inky-black dirt. "Your men had taken the old fashioned way," Lord Velaryon said, leading them along the slightly elevated road. "And stormed the gates."

"And your men, my lord?" Rhaenys asked. A flock of shrieking crows flew above them, towards the shared destination. "We saw the Manderly ships, but no sight of yours."

"We started a fuss at the westernmost point of the island," he explained. "They must have thought the lords of the Narrow Sea finally mutinied. The real fright came when you did."

"How many Narrow Sea lords?" Tyrion asked.

"Bar Emmon and Sunglass," Lord Velaryon named. "Only they answered the call to their true liege and queen," he smiled, glancing at Rhaenys. "Though, they wouldn't believe it at first. But my dear wife gave them all an earful when they called me a liar during our council."

Finally, they arrived at the portcullis of Dragonstone. The gate was as large as a grown dragon's mouth, its teeth hanging over them like great iron icicles. Roosting above this gate was another stone dragon, its head bowed as if inspecting those beneath. As Rhaenys' host entered the dragon's mouth, she saw that it wasn't only dragons that brooded upon the three curtain walls; there were basilisks, cockatrices, demons, griffins, hellhounds, manticores, minotaurs, and wyverns. She hardly any moment to gaze upon the rest of the dark splendor of the castle's courtyard. The first and only to have seized her eyes were the corpses that were were strewn about-- bleeding and torn and already being picked apart by crows. Many of the dead men were dressed in plain tunics and only a few were clad in armor. "They were routed," she realized to her relief. 

"Indeed they were, Your Grace," Tyrion agreed, pausing to examine the plate armor of a fallen man. As he spoke, a golden banner with a black stag was cut from a tower, falling to the ground in a unruly and dusty heap. Almost at once, a new banner was unfurled-- a red thrice-headed dragon upon black. 

At the steps of what she guessed to be Dragonstone's great keep, Ser Rolly Duckfield was standing over a man, his sword's point kept on him. Rhaenys was keen to know why that particular man had been spared. As she and Tyrion approached the knight and his captive, Ser Rolly spoke at once: "he claims to have been holding the castle." Unlike many of the fallen men, this one was wearing armor. Splendid armor as well; pale bronze and paler gold, with a elegant etching of an oak tree upon his breastplate. Rhaenys couldn't place a name to his sigil, but Tyrion, however was quick to recognize the young man. 

"Ser Arys Oakheart," he said, a tinge of surprise in his voice. "What in the seven hells are _you_ doing here?"

"I could ask you the same, Kinslayer!" The man called Arys retorted through gritted teeth; a gash above his brow was bleeding red down his face. "Murdered your king and nephew, and yet you still breathe!"

"Oh, still pretending that Joffery was so noble and just and the greatest king to have ever lived?" Tyrion said evenly. "Call me any name you please, Ser Arys, but you are no better than a dog wearing a collar of white and gold. Maybe you'll at least die a good dog. But I am curious-- why is a man of the Kingsguard not guarding his king?"

"I don't have to answer to you, Imp!" Ser Arys spat, glaring up at Rhaenys. "Or anyone that dared to steal Dragonstone from King Tommen."

"Well, it just so happens that this is _my_ castle," Rhaenys remarked. "I'm only taking back what's mine."

The knight snorted. "Your castle, my lady?"

"Mine, as it was Rhaegar's, Aerys', Jaehaerys', Duncan's…" 

"You jest," Arys Oakheart scoffed, though his confusion was starting to show. "The Targaryens are gone."

"Is what Cersei believes," Rhaenys said airily. "But I suppose there is peace in ignorance. Now if you excuse me, ser, i'm looking for my husband." 

"Dungeons are below the keep," Ser Rolly told her, forcing Arys to stand.

"If they weren't already, release Stannis' men. Any other prisoners can join Ser Arys." Ser Rolly grunted in response, seizing the knight and hauling him away. As she watched them leave, Rhaenys turned to Tyrion. "Kingsguard?" 

"Since Robert's," he replied, still utterly baffled. "If it were mine to do so, I would give all the gold in Casterly Rock to know why he was _really_ sent here."

Rhaenys suddenly felt something nudge her hand. She looked over her shoulder, thinking Grey Wind had returned to her. All the same, a wolf came to her, but one of snow-white fur and blood-red eyes. "Ghost!" She exclaimed, as the silent direwolf bunted her hand again with his massive head, his tail thrashing. _Jon is here_ , she realized joyfully. She should have known that he would've taken the chance to return and fight for her. All must have been well enough in Winterfell for him to have left. 

"I remember this one," Tyrion said. "He belongs to the bastard."

Rhaenys ran her fingertips underneath Ghost's jaw. "My last letter to Winterfell, I mentioned to Jon and Sansa that you were with me," she said, to stay off any concerns the Lannister might've had about another hostile northerner. Tyrion was silent, perhaps mulling over what his former wife would've made of him now. Rhaenys sometimes wondered if he missed her. She never asked because no matter what, or how loyal he was, Sansa was not his anymore. 

"If I may suggest, Your Grace," Tyrion finally spoke. "That we'd have better luck finding your commanders if we searched different places."

"That would be better," Rhaenys agreed. Tyrion bowed his head and walked towards the tower where the first Targaryen banner was unfurled. Just as he came to the broken doors, Jon Snow emerged from them. Rhaenys heart suddenly flitted, as though she had seen Ned Stark's ghost. His dark hair, his long face, his deep grey eyes, and his stubbled jaw. Strangely, she finally understood why Lady Catelyn Stark hated this bastard son so much and for so long. Rhaenys watched her good-brother as he and the Lannister briefly exchanged quiet words. Tyrion then continued into the tower, and Jon finally looked upon Rhaenys, a smile brightening his solemn face and softening his eyes to fog. She ran to him, and he caught her around her middle.

"Rhaenys," he breathed. "Gods, i'm glad to see you."

"I didn't even know you'd come south," Rhaenys said, breaking the embrace to look over him, to espy any injuries. He appeared unscathed, apart from a cut upon his cheek, and she thanked the gods.

"As soon as you wrote from Sunspear, I planned for it," Jon admitted. "I came with Ser Marlon Manderly. Lord Baelish even sent a host of Knights of the Vale to White Harbor with me. Lyanna Mormont even spared a few hundred men. As did Umber, Cerwyn, and Glover." Rhaenys was rather surprised; she had only expected a few ships from White Harbor, least of all nearly a thousand northernmen. "We've come to help win back your kingdom, not just your castle. The North remembers," Jon said, in response to her silence. "Lady Wylla Manderly was more than ready to remind her father's court of that." He paused, looking amused. "She's here, actually."

Rhaenys brightened. "Wylla is here?" 

"Over there, actually."

In the midst of all the men, it was quite easy to pick out the young girl; she had long dyed her waist-length blond hair a garish green. Rhaenys wondered how she could have possibly missed her. The younger of Ser Wylis Manderly's two daughters, and undoubtedly the most willful. She bounded over to them, her sea-green eyes bright. "Queen Rhaenys," Wylla grinned, her voice high like a bell. "I like your castle." She took Rhaenys' hands into her own, still smiling.

"Did you steal away on your kin's ship, my lady?" Rhaenys queried slyly.

"I didn't have to," Wylla remarked, tossing her long braid over her shoulder. "When the dragons danced, House Manderly took up Rhaenyra's cause. Before that, they supported Princess Rhaenys during the council at Harrenhal. As I told my mother, it would be our house's greatest honor to see Rhaenys, First of Her Name, to the Iron Throne." 

Rhaenys gently squeezed her friend's hand. "I'm glad you're here, Wylla."

She bowed her head. "Pardon me. I have my cousin to look for, and the lady Asha Greyjoy has been helping me." Rhaenys watched her walk away, relieved to know that Asha was alright. 

"Have you seen Robb?" Jon asked. 

Rhaenys shook her head, gazing back at him. "Had you? At all, during the fighting?" She hoped with all her heart that the two brothers had caught some glimpse of each other.

"I did," he replied. "I knew from your letter that he was alive, but to see him after so long, after a year thinking he was dead..."

"I know..." Rhaenys said softly. Gods did she know. 

\---

The foyer of the keep alone was immense and splendid. Small dragons framed gateways, dragon claws held torches, and dragon tails formed archways and staircases. At the furthest end of the hall was a great carved dragon lying on its belly, with doors set in its enormous mouth. Rhaenys guessed that was Dragonstone's Great Hall. Just as in the courtyard, slain men were scattered about. A bitterness rose in her throat as she recognized a few of the dead. Some healers were already at work, tending to any survivors. Rhaenys wandered away from Jon, carefully stepping over corpses and broken steel. What was it about death, a currency of life? Then, in a corner of the hall, she caught the sight of familiar dark auburn curls showing dull copper in the dim firelight. "Robb," Rhaenys said softly. And something was wrong. He was slumped against the dark stone wall and Theon was knelt next to him, his hand clasped over Robb's shoulder; when Rhaenys ran to them, she realized Theon had been stanching a bloody wound. "Robb!" She cried out, falling onto her knees beside him. At the sound of her voice, his eyelids flickered open. 

"Rhaenys," he breathed, reaching to lightly brush her cheek. "Where did you come from?" 

Tears were falling from her tired eyes; she already watched him die once. She glanced over to Theon's blood-slicked hand, almost afraid to see what was underneath it. Theon's pale face was made whiter by the firelight. He tilted his head to a man's corpse; an arrow had been shot through his eye. "I wasn't quick enough…" Rhaenys beseeched him to lift his hand and as he did, blood dripped dark onto Robb's armor; it as a large gash, deep but not quite mortal.

"Another scar," Robb said, grimacing as he sat up. "I hope you don't mind."

Rhaenys tearfully shook her head. "It's not so bad," she said, curling her fingers around his wound, the blood warm on her palm. "You'll get patched up in little time." As she spoke, Jon Snow rushed over to them, laying eyes on his brother once again and smiling in a way that brought even more tears to Rhaenys' eyes. It was often said that the gods took with one hand and gave with the other-- and it felt as though they have given her the sweetest winter rose to have ever bloomed. 

"Stark," Jon called out, his voice thick with emotion. 

Robb gave him a small smile. "Snow."

\---

Robb winced as Rhaenys poured firemilk over his raw wound. She flinched at once. "Are you sure you don't want the maester to tend to this?" She asked, pressing a poultice against the gash. By the time she and Jon helped him to the Great Hall, where the rest of the injured men were being seen to by a lone maester and a few healers, most of the bleeding as stopped. The worst sight had only been the blood. Rhaenys had him stripped above the waist and sat upon the window sill while she tended to him. Outside the windows, the morning had settled, calm and beautiful given the night's storm. 

"I'm sure," he replied, his gaze sweeping over the length of the crowded Great Hall. "Besides," he said, taking her by her waist. "You're doing well." 

Rhaenys simpered, making sure she kept the poultice firmly on the wound before she bound it. "Don't ever scare me again," she said, brown eyes unyielding. Perhaps they were only words to the wind, for this war was far from over. 

"As my lady commands," Robb vowed anyway, his hands tightening at her waist. Rhaenys' eyes lowered to glance at her own hands; wet with blood, the red of her wolf. Otherwise, she would have also tangled her fingers in his hair as she kissed him in full sight of the Great Hall. Tomorrow, she could worry about the lions and the roses, and the morrows after that. Rhaenys wanted to take joy in her victory, and the greater joy of having her beloved returned to her. "Even when I saw your dragon," Robb murmured. "Singing fire onto those ships, that was still a small wonder compared to you."

In the faint reflections in the window's glass-pane, Rhaenys watched as Jon Snow approached them. He was smiling, almost smirking as he used to whenever he came across his half-brother and good-sister in each other's arms. Rhaenys twisted around to meet his gaze, Robb's hands still around her. "Rhae, Lord Stannis is looking for you," Jon said, still smiling.

"She's busy," Robb remarked, kissing her temple. 

Rhaenys hummed in amusement, wiping her hands on her skirts in the absence of an unbloodied rag. "I won't be long," she promised. 

\---

Stannis was just outside the mouth of the great hall, watching as more wounded men were either limping or half-carried in. "I left Ser Rolland Storm to hold the castle, and he said three thousand men were sent here by Tywin Lannister to garrison," he said as Rhaenys stood beside him. "Lord Paxter Redwyne had long taken his fleet from here to defend the Reach from Euron Greyjoy."

"Only three thousand to hold a castle?" Rhaenys scoffed. "Even I would think the Lannisters a bit more brighter than that."

"Their war rages on," Stannis said. "With the ironborn attacking the Reach, a Dornish vengeance to fend off, control of the Riverlands to take, and an impending attempt to seize the North again, I suspect they've hardly a fighting man to spare these days." 

"And how many men did we lose?" She asked in dread.

"I can't say, Your Grace, but I would guess close to two hundred from what i've seen thus far."

"Two hundred," she echoed. Certainly less than the dead of many battles gone, and certainly less of battles still to come. But even the death of one fighting man would not go unmourned. "And this was only a rout."

"You'll thank your gods for what is a small loss, compared to the Lannisters', and you've a high-born prisoner as well."

"Have I, now?"

"Lord Tyrell's youngest son, Loras."

Rhaenys gazed up at Stannis, marveling at this surprising second victory. Loras Tyrell was more than just a lord's son--he was a brother of Tommen's queen. But Stannis continued to speak, grave as ever. "I saw him myself. He's been at death's door for quite some time."

"Some time? You mean from attacking Dragonstone?"

"He _led_ the attack, Your Grace. After Ser Rolland refused his offer of single combat, Loras stormed the gates, just as your men did except with more consequence. Almost a thousand men. I've known Loras for some time-- greedy for glory and reckless beyond measure. His injuries hold peer with his pride."

"Well, we must keep death's door barred," Rhaenys remarked. "Margaery will fight tooth and claw for her brother's safe return, and if such is what she wants, she'll think better and not fight at all." From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the smoke-furred body of Grey Wind, skulking into the Great Hall-- but not before sniffing at Rhaenys gingerly and licking her hand. 

"I heard His Grace was wounded in the battle," Stannis said, watching the wolf pad away. "The prince's chambers were prepared for you."

 _Mother and Father's room,_ Rhaenys thought, and the realization was both bitter and sweet in her throat. 

\----

The prince's chambers were contained within a dragon-topped spire close to the keep. As every room and corridor in Dragonstone, this bedchamber was cut from the same black stone. The dark of it reminded Rhaenys of their room in Winterfell. She led Robb to the bed, where he finally yielded to exhaustion and quickly drifted into sleep. Rhaenys sat at the bed's edge and swept his curls from his brow before kissing it. Perhaps later that day, she would search for the sept and light candles for the Mother and the Warrior. Rising from the bed, Rhaenys stood by the fire and stripped away her clothes, dropping them in a pile onto the floor. She stood naked before the flames, allowing the heat to seep under her skin as she ran her fingers through her damp and knotted hair. Rhaenys then wrapped herself with a blanket and settled beside Robb. She waited for sleep to come for her, but it was either stubborn or unwilling. 

Clutching the blanket around her, she wandered over to the large window and leaned against the sill. In front of her was the mouth of Blackwater Bay. She knew the waters of the bay eventually rushed into King's Landing; that was how close the distance between the island and the capital were. Rhaenys averted her gaze from the water to the grounds beneath her; near the edge of the inner curtain wall was a thicket of tall trees. For a fleeting moment, she thought it to be a godswood until she reminded herself that no Targaryen had ever prayed to the old gods. 

Rhaenys rested her head against the glass pane; it felt ice-cold on her warm skin. She knew after Rhaegar and Elia were wed, they had left King's Landing for Dragonstone. No one was ever quite sure why; they returned to the Red Keep a year after she was born, during the false spring. _Aerys_ , most of the highborn and lowborn guessed. It was no secret that the Mad King disliked the Dornish princess and her Dornish-looking babe. _Then why return there? Why stay?_ Rhaenys wondered, as she watched what Elia Martell might have also seen from that very window. The silvery sea. The black sands. The watchful stone dragons. Had her mother ever found joy in the grim castle? Dragonstone was the dark moon to Sunspear's golden sun. _She would have, for Rhaegar_ , Rhaenys thought. Elia, who was said to have loved her prince with all her heart. There was a terrible sadness in knowing that her love was never returned.

"Rhae?"

She turned around quickly. Robb had awoken, and pushed himself onto an elbow. "What's wrong?" He asked, worn and concerned.

"Nothing," she insisted, padding back to the bed and sitting at the edge. "Go back to sleep."

"You haven't slept."

Rhaenys sighed and leaned into him, resting her head on his unwounded shoulder. Robb wrapped his arms around her before settling back against the pillows. He said nothing else and for that she was glad. She wanted the thoughts in her head to quietly lay themselves to rest. Before long, Rhaenys was lulled to sleep by the warmth and heartbeat of her husband.

\---

The small thicket Rhaenys had spotted that day's morning was actually an enormous garden. At the arch of the Dragon's Tail, Aegon's Garden grew, nearly half the size of Winterfell's godswood. Tall trees rose on every side, many of them pine trees; a pleasant pine scent drifted about the garden. Wild roses of red and pink and yellow thrived, along a great variety of other flowers. Rhaenys and Wylla sat upon a black stone bench, admiring the lovely garden. 

On the other side of the castle, however, corpses were being burned, the ashes thrown to the sea. Rhaenys would have overseen the cleanse of the castle with Robb (who had insisted his wound was already healed enough for him leave their bed), but she had awakened with more weariness than she had fallen asleep with. Rhaenys breathed deeply, the scent of pine sweeter that she had ever known it to be. 

"How long before the Boy King realizes he lost Dragonstone?" Wylla asked.

"Days, maybe," she replied. That day was already set on their horizon, when Cersei Lannister learned that her son's banners had been cut from Dragonstone's towers, replaced with colors she long thought vanquished. That Tommen's men were now crowded in the dungeons beneath the same fortress he had ordered them to siege. That the Lannisters would finally feel a silver of the fear that Rhaenys bore for nearly three years. 

"Well. Thank the gods. You have Loras Tyrell."

Rhaenys had beseeched the maester to tend to Ser Loras as best as he could; the knight could've been all that was standing between Dragonstone and the lions' violent retaliation. "Valyria will rise again before Tommen surrenders the Iron Throne for a knight. If anything, Loras' safe return to the Tyrells could promise their fealty. But the truth is, we've nothing left to bargain for."

"That doesn't worry you," Wylla remarked.

"No. They say a Lannister always repays his debts, and i'm sending a dragon to collect."

Wylla grinned, gently nudging Rhaenys' shoulder with hers. "Our houses would have been joined long ago if Princess Viserra hadn't fallen from her horse. But all the same, we have sworn to always be your men."

"You will always be Stark men first," Rhaenys opined. "You've been so a thousand years before Aegon's Conquest, and I wouldn't ever let that change."

But Wylla was still smiling. "Are you not a Stark?"

Rhaenys would never forget that she was Lady Rhaenys Stark once. Queen in the North. Queen Rhaenys Stark. _You've married the North,_ Catelyn Stark had told her, the day after her wedding. "Robb would say I am," she said. "I don't bear the name anymore, but i'll still honor it as i've done since my wedding day." She smiled, leaning in to embrace her friend. Wylla clasped her arms tightly around her, but pulled away rather suddenly. She raised her blond eyebrows, and looked upon Rhaenys with new found scrutiny. 

"...What?" Rhaenys asked lightheartedly.

Wylla tilted her head ever so slightly. "When was the last time you bled?"

\---

Rhaenys found Robb outside the Sea Dragon Tower, a great steeple shaped like a peaceful dragon facing the sea. He watched as a couple of ravens flew to where the rookery was; only a few of the birds were left. Many were killed when Lannister men attempted to send for help during their assault. "Robb!" She called out. As soon as he looked upon her, Rhaenys ran and threw her arms around his neck. 

"My love," he smiled, steadying her by wrapping his arm around her middle. "Have you've been exploring when you should've been resting?"

"This was my home once," Rhaenys replied. "And it will be ours for a bit. I'd like to get to know it."

"And where has the voyager been all this time?" Robb asked, stroking her hair.

"The garden. There are pines and flowers, even roses." She smiled at him, her heart beating wildly. "It might have been a wonderful place to watch a child play."

Robb gently twisted one of her curls around his finger. "I'm sure you played amongst the flowers when you were a little princess."

There was a strange grief and wonder of it all. Only a few moons ago, she never, not in a thousand years, would've thought this day to have been anything more than just a dream. Rhaenys did her best to keep her voice steady. "Perhaps my father watched me toddle about and tear petals from flowers." She looked up at Robb. "I know you will do the same with the little princess or prince inside me."

He only stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. When he realized what she was saying, his azure eyes widened. "You're…"

"With child," Rhaenys said, her voice finally shaking from elation. "Lady Wylla swears I am, and to be quite honest, the last month I should have noticed. But i've twice been terrible at noticing, and I suppose these sort of things especially go amiss when one is planning an attack--" 

Robb took her face into his hands and kissed her; she felt his smile on her lips. "Our child at last," he rejoiced as he lifted and spun her around once. Rhaenys giggled, pressing her brow to his before kissing him again. She doubted there ever lived a woman as happy as she was in that moment. A joy so ardent, that she wished for it to become smoke, and for the winds to carry it far from there-- to King's Landing, to the Riverlands, to Meereen. If such smoke were words, they would say: _I am Rhaenys Targaryen and the fire is mine. Do you understand?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third time's the charm :)
> 
> Also February 23rd will make once year since I started writing this story. I spent an entire year on this. <3


	65. the garden with broken walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " 'The Hand of the King,' Tyrion Lannister said, as Rhaenys took the letter and examined the unfamiliar wax seal."

Rhaenys had wandered into Aegon's Garden alone (or as alone as a woman could be when a child bloomed within her). Her eyes rested on a gnarled bush where red roses flourished in defiance of the approaching cold. After four days upon Dragonstone, the hints of winter had become plainer to see; the stillness of the air, the silver of the sky. As she ambled towards the rosebush, Rhaenys wondered if the heat that seeped from the volcano would be enough to cloak the entire island with warmth. She reached for a rose, carefully plucking it from the brier and pricking her fingertip upon a thorn as she did so. It was hardly a painful thing, and she watched as tiny beads of blood, darker red than the rose petals, fell from her forefinger and onto the worn milky marble that paved paths along the garden. Rhaenys sighed, taking the rose with her other hand, and curling her pricked finger towards her palm. She gazed up at Dragonmont, looming over her and the castle and the island like some kind of god. Sonaral had made a lair somewhere in the volcano's face, as many dragons of old had done. Surely, every creature and soul on Dragonstone could have heard the occasional shriek and song of the dragon. 

A sudden and light wind brushed her face, and gently stirred her loose curls. Rhaenys looked from the volcano to the sky, watching for a brewing storm; instead, she espied a raven, a blot of ink against the grey sky, flying high above her head and in the direction where the Sea Dragon tower rose. The sweetness of her garden visit turned bitter at once. Still clutching her rose, Rhaenys followed the raven with haste, taking care to not tread the hems of her skirts. It was only a matter of time before their four days of peace ran its narrow course. _Dark wings, dark words…_

Many had already gathered at foot of the Sea Dragon tower, wordlessly summoned by the raven's heavy call. Maester Dresden was standing at the door sill, a letter in his hand and waiting for the queen to claim it. "The Hand of the King," Tyrion Lannister said, as Rhaenys took the letter and examined the unfamiliar wax seal. Rhaenys pressed her lips together, staring at the blood-red seal; she barely noticed when Robb took the rose from her hand, barely heard him when he urged her to read. 

Finally, Rhaenys broke the wax seal.

_To the defectors on Dragonstone,_

_In the name of King Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of his Name, you are hereby charged with treason against the crown. Your loyalty for a perished house is hardly admirable, and to fly their banners is the upmost insult to your king and realm. The Seven Kingdoms is nearing a time of great peace, after years of a war that traitors no different from yourselves had set forth. His Grace shall not allow for such peace to be threatened, and his judgment and sentence will bear little mercy. Remember Castamere._

_Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Hand of the King, Lord Regent, and Protector of the Realm._

"They've demanded war and now they demand for peace," Rhaenys said bitterly, allowing the letter to reel back into a scroll and looking to Robb before anyone else. He was gazing at her with a familiar worried look; she knew that he would want her to leave the island, but he knew that she would never even consider it. 

" _Lord Regent?_ " Tyrion repeated, his brow lined in confusion. As far as the realm was concerned, it was Cersei who ruled in her young son's stead. But Tyrion's bafflement was lost in the many voices that arose from the crowd. 

"Tywin may yet have a fool come ashore and sing The Rains of Castamere," Lord Velyaron remarked. "I heard he's done the very same to Lord Farman of Faircastle."

"Then I will make sure the fool's tongue is torn out, and that he gives it to Tywin himself," Rhaenys said angrily. 

"Perhaps it would help if you have that done unto Loras Tyrell," the Darkstar Gerold Dayne suggested to her. "To remind the Lannisters that our own aren't the only ones who bleed."

"We are not going to torture a dying man, Ser Gerold."

Rhaenys could espy the hint of purple in the Darkstar's black eyes, but it was swallowed and lost in the midst of his emerging anger. "You're young and a woman," he scoffed, as though it meant to belittle her. "I don't expect you to know--"

"If you never expected it, then how are we standing here?" Rhaenys challenged him. She watched as he folded his arms and as his eyes flitted from her face to Robb, who was surely growing more aggravated at the knight; all the more reason for Ser Gerold to mind his tongue and remember his vows. The man was no Arthur Dayne, that was to be sure of. 

"Then what will you have us do?" Ser Gerold asked. "Wait for Tywin to send his lapdogs upon the black shores?"

"Do the lions frightened you so much, ser?" Cletus Yronwood jeered, and the two Dornishmen would have certainly had their scuffle if Jon Snow hadn't come between them. 

"You're the queen's knights!" Jon said harshly, just as Ser Davos Seaworth came forward. "Why don't you act like it?" 

"Your Grace, these demands for peace," Ser Davos started, returning to what mattered. "How will they be answered?"

Tywin's letter was slightly crumpled in Rhaenys' tightened grasp. _Her_ peace would come when Cersei answered for the blood of Ned Stark spilled upon Baelor's sept. When Tywin answered for the banners used to shroud and gift Elia and Aegon's corpses. When Walder Frey answered for the wedding that disguised betrayal and slaughter. When the true traitors and monsters answered for their broken vows and the murder of children, for the bodies of the innocent, for the rape of women and girls, for the burning and starvation of homelands and homes. "With the only way they know, and the way we've grown used to," she replied. "With violence." 

Rhaenys then allowed the audience to their leave, watching as they dispersed. Tywin's fury was made plain enough, and he didn't even know that she and Robb were alive. She turned around to look upon Robb, who held up the rose he had taken from her. "We follow our hearts, wherever they take us," he told her. "Where you lead, I will follow."

Rhaenys curled her fingers around his wrist. "Keep it for me a bit longer," she said, before following Dresden into the Sea Dragon tower. 

"May I trouble you for parchment and a quill, Maester?" She asked him. 

\---

_Rhaenys peered into the cradle to see if her brother had fallen asleep yet-- to her delight, he hadn't. The Red Keep had gotten boring since Viserys left, and she wanted someone to play with; even if that someone was her gurgling little brother. Aegon squealed as soon as he saw Rhaenys, his dark blue eyes shining in the firelight. "Rhae, let Aegon sleep," Elia said softly from the window sill. Rhaenys looked over to her mother, biting her tongue so she wouldn't dare to argue._

_"Go to sleep," Rhaenys quietly ordered her brother and returned to her lonesome place on the nursery's rug where dolls were scattered about. She hummed and picked up the doll her father had given her for her name day; a wooden thing with a preciously painted face, a dark-haired lady dressed in silk. Suddenly sad, Rhaenys hugged the doll to her chest, glancing up to her mother. Elia had been gazing at her, almost mournfully. She hadn't been well since Rhaegar died, and only gotten worse when Rhaella and Viserys suddenly left King's Landing for Dragonstone. Rhaenys wished Maester Pycelle could do something to help her._

_"Come here, love," Elia said, and Rhaenys ran to her at once, clambering onto her mother's lap. Elia wrapped her slender arms around her daughter, rocking her slowly as though she was a babe again. Rhaenys hadn't the heart to remind her that she was not a baby anymore. "You are the blood of kings and queens and conquerors and mothers," Elia murmured._

_"And dragons," Rhaenys added, smoothing down her doll's dress._ Papa said so.

_"And dragons," Elia agreed, running her tapered fingers through Rhaenys' tangled curls and pressing her lips to the crown of her head. "My little dragon."_

_Then came the shouting, the cursing, the heavy sounds of steel clattering to the floor. Rhaenys clutched her doll, already frightened._

_"Dragons are brave," Elia Martell said. "I need you to be brave for me." Everything after happened quickly. Rhaenys ran as her mother told her, accidentally dropping her doll somewhere in the corridor. She wished to hide in the godswood, just as she did when Aerys killed Lord Stark and his son. Instead, Rhaenys clambered up the stairwell, hoping she'd find Balerion on the way. The noises grew louder and scarier, and she ran into what used to be Rhaegar's chambers. She crawled under his bed, and tried to be brave._

_Aegon had started crying, but he quickly stopped. Elia's own screaming was wrought with fury, like a she-dragon-- but it soon became something more terrible. Moments after she stopped screaming, the chamber door opened. Rhaenys held her breath, wordlessly praying for her father to return to her. Instead, a man with the face of a pig grabbed her ankle and dragged her out…_

And Rhaenys awoke, cold sweat causing her skin to prickle with gooseflesh. She felt as though she was drowning, and was fighting for breath as she sat up against her pillows. She thought she heard the sharp clatter of something falling onto the floor as Robb rushed to her bedside. "It was only a dream," he reassured her, as he did many times before. _A dream or a memory?_ Rhaenys pressed her hand to her bedgown, over where she knew the scar to be. Over where Amory Lorch would have thrusted his longsword had Jaime Lannister not come to her rescue. 

In hopes of a distraction, she looked over to where she heard the noise; it seemed that Robb had knocked an inkwell over in his haste. Ink was bleeding black along the floor. She remembered: he had meant to write a letter to Sansa and Rickon. "Sorry about that," she murmured.

"Don't be," Robb replied, laying his hand over hers, over her belly. Rhaenys rested her aching head on his shoulder. The night's terror was different that her past ones, the ones that tormented her well into her maidenhood and gnarled into her marriage bed. This one rung like a memory, blurry at the edges from the recollections of a three year old-- memories of another war.

Weary of war, she sighed. "Robb, when this is all over, I want to plant flowers and watch them grow." A garden over ashes, over the roiled soil where the dead rested. Something peaceful. "Is that too much of a demand?"

"You've long scattered seeds along this earth. They'll bloom into a righteous kingdom, in time." 

Kingdoms were sowed with blood, watered by tears. Rhaenys wished for another way, but knew that wish would have been hollow. Besides, her wish already came true. She glanced at his face, blinking away tears she wasn't even aware of; Robb kissed them from her eyes before they could fall. He then pardoned himself as he pulled away and rose from the bed. "I'll be quick," he promised, and left the chamber in a haste. Bemused, Rhaenys rubbed one of her tired eyes with the heel of her hand. 

Robb returned as quickly as he promised, and he was holding a cat-- a bundle of ruddy-fur and eyes of tarnished bronze. Rhaenys brightened, smiling as much as Robb was as he gently placed the purring creature onto her lap. The cat mewed, sniffing her hand delicately with its pink nose. This one wasn't as skittish like the few cats that roamed around Dragonstone. "Hello there," Rhaenys cooed, stroking the cat's head. The cat mewled and started to purr again, its eyes closed in content. 

"I only noticed her lurking about this evenfall," Robb remarked, resuming his place next to Rhaenys. 

"She's sweet," Rhaenys murmured, throughly charmed as the cat nuzzled against her. "Thank you." 

She felt as Robb softly wound one of her curls around his finger. "You're everything to me, Rhaenys," her wolf said, and tenderly tugged the threads of her heart. She learned how dangerous it was to keep all treasures in one place, the heart the most perilous place of all. But like a dragon and its precious hoard, she guarded her love with flesh and blood and fire. "This war will come to an end, and you will have your flowers. I only hope you'll forgive me when I pluck them from their stems to wreathe your hair."

\---

At the topmost floor of the great keep of Dragonstone, the Stone Drum, was a round chamber that housed a magnificent table. When Rhaenys first learned of this Painted Table, she was overcome with bewilderment, for she had once dreamed of that same thing; fifty feet long, twenty-five feet wide at its broadest point, four feet at its thinnest, carved and painted into the semblance of Westeros. "It's said that Aegon the Conqueror planned for his invasion right where you're standing," Tyrion Lannister remarked, standing and peering over where Casterly Rock was. Rhaenys stood at the precise location of Dragonstone; behind her was a raised seat that allowed anyone to view the massive map quite easily. Meleys the red she-cat, who had taken to following Rhaenys around, currently occupied this seat, much to Tyrion's amusement. 

"Along with Rhaenys and Visenya, I would think," Rhaenys replied. "Why does history like to forget the women?"

"Because of us men, I suppose," Tyrion mused. 

"Well, Queen Alysanne believed there was no reason to favor a man over a woman," Rhaenys recalled. "And after Jaehaerys passed over Rhaenys for Baelon, that he would have no need of her, if he thought women to be of less use." She walked along the Painted Table, along the forests, rivers, and mountains of the North. "Do you think Aegon would have succeeded without his sisters?"

"I don't think he would have succeeded without their dragons," Tyrion remarked. "But the books all agree that the worth of Rhaenys and Visenya could never been measured out in gold or jewels."

"The dragon has three heads," Rhaenys sighed, looking to Tyrion. "My father used to tell me that…of all the things, it's what I can remember." She sat at the edge of a vacant seat, her eyes resting upon Winterfell. Viserys was long dead, Aegon even longer. Daenerys was far across the sea and Rhaenys couldn't help but tend to a quiet forbearance if her aunt were to return to Westeros with her own armies and dragons. 

"Your Grace?" Tyrion asked, querying her silence. 

"Oberyn told me. Rhaegar was obsessed with a prophecy-- the prince was that promised, born from the line of Jaehaerys, Second of His Name. He thought himself to have been this promised prince, until Aegon was born. But my father's promises of a savior were broken along with my brother's skull." Rhaenys looked up from Winterfell and onto the Lannister. She long knew him to be a clever man, too shrewd to mind any words that were birthed from stars or fires. Perhaps the same was once thought of Rhaegar. "For a while... I thought the promised prince could have been _my_ own son, when I became with child the very night that red comet came to the sky. Of course, that babe had long bled from me."

"And you've another within you," Tyrion said, ambling around the longtable to join her. "Do you believe it to be your prince that was promised?" 

"I was hoping this world wouldn't need a savior by the time it's born."

"Prophecy is like a half-trained mule," Tyrion declared to Rhaenys' amusement. "It looks as though it might be useful, but the moment you trust in it, it kicks you in the head." He stood next to her chair, gazing up at her kindly. "We don't need prophecies or promised princes. I say we already have all that we need."

Rhaenys smiled, reminding herself of why she called him to the Chamber of the Painted Table. "I... had this made for you," she said, reaching into a hidden fold in her shawl. "Lord Connington told me what it's supposed to look like." She held the brooch out to him; a hand attached to a ring around it, gripping the slender point of a hiltless blade. But rather than gold, it was crafted from smooth and shiny black glass. "It's dragonglass," Rhaenys continued, carefully pinning it onto his shirt. "Dragonstone isn't known for mining gold." 

Tyrion gazed down at the brooch, carefully touching it with his fingertip. When he looked back to Rhaenys, his emerald and onyx eyes were misty and bright in the daylight.

"Tyrion Lannister, I name you Hand of the Queen."

\---

_Lord Tywin Lannister,_

_Nineteen years ago, Gregor Clegane raped and murdered Elia Martell, and killed her son Aegon Targaryen._

_Who gave the order?_

_Her surviving daughter,_

_Rhaenys of the House Targaryen, First of my Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm._

Cersei Lannister read the message, the taunt, for a third time, looking over the rim of her second cup of wine. Every word made her sick with fury, boiling her blood in a way fire never could have dreamed of doing. She was already shorn, her sins and shame so close to being bared and paraded before every beggar and whore's eye in King's Landing. Even though her lord-father had put a stop to all of it, her lioness pride was wrested from her as though it was a ragdoll and she was a helpless little girl crying. 

Now this.

Cersei swilled the last of her wine and reached for the decanter, as she thought of her beautiful daughter rotting within the Great Sept of Baelor

It was Varys' idea to send Myrcella away from the city-- _away from the Crownlands during these trying times_ , he boldly claimed. To Cersei's dismay and rage, Lord Tywin agreed, sending her daughter and a sworn shield, Arys Oakheart, to his brother at Casterly Rock. But it all failed. Myrcella was taken from her journey's way, and Tywin sent the disgraced Ser Arys sent to the waste that was Dragonstone (Cersei would've put a sword to the man's neck for failing his duty). 

It was only a few days before that Myrcella finally returned home-- as a pale corpse wrapped in a Targaryen banner. 

Now, Cersei was now more than certain; it was the _surviving_ Rhaenys Targaryen, who murdered her child for vengeance and ordered for her body to be sent to Tywin in the very manner he presented the bloodied bodies of Elia Martell and her son to Robert. 

_Let the Faith bring this girl to justice,_ Lancel Lannister had insisted. _The High Septon will see to it…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meleys the cat (because I like cats): http://68.media.tumblr.com/2403fd8da1c1aced1243440c5dd183a0/tumblr_nmav8fBv0M1qcxyrro1_1280.jpg
> 
> Believe it or not, I didn't want to kill Myrcella, but "gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds."


	66. the wars to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "... I know you've a hundred years worth of worries, and I hate to add a one and one hundredth."

"Are you telling me," Wylla Manderly teased, perhaps a bit too loudly. "That the Queen of All Westeros can't even hold a needle properly?" Rhaenys looked up from her embroidery, and from the finger she had pricked for a third time. Wylla was hunched over her own needlework, only looking up whenever Rhaenys cursed from the needle's quick jab. Sat close to her was Asha, who was whetting a dagger while she looked on in amusement. 

"Do forgive me, Septa Wylla," Rhaenys replied, returning to the small ivory blanket as Wylla laughed her bell-like laugh. Smiling, she reached for the small knife that rested upon the window sill next to her, gently paring the needle and thread from the blanket. Setting both knife and needle aside, Rhaenys laid the blanket out across her lap. She was rather pleased with her work, given how she hadn't touched a needle in over a year's time. She had wedded Targaryen to Stark upon the ivory blanket, as she intended to swaddle her baby with it someday -- a dragon and direwolf, both set in carmine thread. 

"It looks lovely, Rhaenys," Wylla remarked, placing her own handiwork upon her knee to admire her friend's. "Wouldn't you say so, Lady Asha?"

"My lady-mother would," Asha replied, still honing the edge of her steel. "She's the one with the hands and eyes for that sort of thing."

Wylla tossed her loose green curls behind her shoulder. "I'm sure a pirate such as yourself can find it within herself to admire sweet things." 

The scrap of steel against whetstone finally lulled and Asha gazed upon Wylla-- her dark grey eyes were shining in the sunlight. "I do try, my lady," was all that she said in a rather unfamiliar and tender way. Wylla quickly dipped her head as if to return to her needlework, but not before Rhaenys espied the soft pink blush that came to her cheeks. Rhaenys smiled to herself, hugging the blanket to her chest as a mewling Meleys leapt onto her lap. She couldn't ask for more in that moment, except for it to never end. "Have you picked names for your babe yet?" Asha asked, examining the blade.

"Elia for a girl, Eddard for a boy," Rhaenys replied, scratching Meleys behind her ear. The words were like a prayer to her by now. Many had already asked and none were surprised. 

"You'll name for children for ghosts?"

"They're ghosts worth keeping."

The Greyjoy bowed her head in respect and said nothing else. Rhaenys felt the carmine thread beneath her fingertips as she wondered if the ghost of her father had stuck around long enough to become a son's name. She had finally ventured within the crypts of Dragonstone, where the ashes of Targaryens rested-- Rhaegar, Aerys, and Rhaella's had been the very last. She looked over the small dragonglass tomb of encrusted rubies where Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's ashes were encased. Even as Rhaenys ran her fingertips over the gilded veins of her father's name, she felt less than she did when she stood before Ned Stark's tomb in Winterfell.

"A winter child," Wylla mused. "My grandfather told me such children are born braver than the rest." 

Rhaenys once heard the very same, and hoped with all her heart that it was true. She vowed to never lose a child again-- not by the hands of winter or men. Asha, finally satisfied with the bite of her steel, sheathed the dagger. "Dare I ask how many children the queen plans on having?"

Rhaenys smiled sweetly. "As many as I can."

"Then we ought to expect many, knowing you and your husband." Wylla teased, winking at her. "You might as well change your sigil to a thrice-headed rabbit."

Asha began to chortle, and Rhaenys snorted in amusement as she took a cushion from the window sill to throw at Wylla. Before she could, the chamber door opened, and Jon Snow came into sight. "What happened here?" He asked, a slight smile already at his lips.

"The Queen's Justice," Wylla grinned, and Rhaenys tossed the pillow at her; Wylla caught the cushion and smiled innocently.

"Well, if it's done with, I wish to speak with the queen."

\---

Rhaenys and Jon walked along the covered bridge that joined the Windwyrm tower to the Sea Dragon tower. They stopped half-way, where the window's view was Aegon's Garden. In the distance, they could hear Sonaral as she left her den to hunt at sea. The direwolves had long left to hunt as well, venturing to the mountains where the bigger prey roamed. "Cloak?" Jon queried, gesturing to the soft ivory thing Rhaenys was still clutching.

"Blanket," she corrected, unfurling and holding it out for him to see. "For my firstborn. Do you like it?"

"It will suit them," he remarked kindly, looking over the embroidered wolf and dragon. "When the war's over and we're all safe, Robb might as well melt his sword down for horseshoes and take up needlework with you."

Rhaenys giggled, folding and draping the blanket over her arm. "And what will you do?"

"I don't know…whatever bastards do."

"Whatever brothers do," she declared. "Help Robb teach Little Ned to wield a sword. Or Little Elia, if she wishes."

"Little Elia?" Jon repeated with a smile. "You'd allow your daughters to carry swords?"

"I would."

"I should have known that. Arya would be pleased..."

Rhaenys felt a twinge of sadness in her heart, absentmindedly looking to the window as if that skinny little girl was bounding though the garden and towards the castle, her skinny little sword at her hip. "You wanted to speak with me?" She asked, before any tears had a chance to come.

"I did," Jon said. "But I know you've a hundred years worth of worries, and I hate to add a one and one hundredth."

"Well, if its worth my worries, then it can't be ignored." Rhaenys turned from the garden and onto him, beseeching him to speak.

"Two months after you left Winterfell," Jon started. "A raven came from Castle Black. The Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont, had been writing to lords and ladies of the North, warning them of wildlings invasions." 

"Invasions?" Rhaenys repeated. When had the wildlings grown so bold?

"Aye. By land and sea, hundreds of them. But that wildling woman, Osha, insisted that they're not breaching the Wall to invade. She claimed they're fleeing."

"Fleeing from what?"

For a moment, Jon looked sheepish. "…the Others."

Rhaenys stared at him. "The Others, if they ever even lived at all, are eight thousand years gone. They only lived in Old Nan's stories, and she's gone too."

"I know, I know-- but Osha had begged me to speak to you about them, and Rickon is alive because of her. Regardless Rhae, we have swarms of wildlings to consider now, as well as their king." The King-Beyond-the Wall, Mance Rayder-- called king by the hosts of wildlings he was said to have united. 

"We need all of our armies south," Rhaenys said. "I trust the decisions Sansa will make, as Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

"She's done well so far. Robb is proud of her."

Rhaenys smiled sadly. Robb did eventually finish his letter to Sansa and Rickon and after it was sealed, it was her turn to comfort him. She looked beyond Aegon's Garden, to where Dragonmont rose-- north. North of Dragonstone were the lands of Crackclaw Point. Somewhere far north of there was Gulltown. Then the Vale of Arryn. The Bite. The Three Sisters. Oldcastle. White Harbor. The White Knife. Castle Cerwyn. Winterfell. "In my mind, I wish we never left Winterfell," she admitted, suddenly and quietly. 

In the corner of her eye, Rhaenys saw Jon bow his head. He surely had thought the very same-- after two years of war, and one of separation, he must had. "Even if that meant Robert alive and king?" He then asked. "Then Joffery after him?"

"I don't care," she sighed, clutching the blanket to her chest. "There have always been terrible kings, and Robert was both terrible man and king-- but even he only a shade of what Joffery was. At least Lord and Lady Stark would've still been alive, their children all in one place." Somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, she asked: "do you know what I would give to hear Sansa and Arya argue once more?"

"Well...I doubt _that's_ worth your crown."

"Oh, you know what I mean."

"I really do, Rhaenys." They were silent for a moment, allowing the rush of the sea and the rustle of pine needles in the wind to their song. When Rhaenys looked back to Jon, he was smiling solemnly. "It seem strange now…but I used to be jealous of you."

"Me?" Rhaenys asked in wonder. "Whatever for?"

"You were an outsider just like I was, yet everyone came to love you-- even Lady Stark. She loved you like a daughter and the way she looked at you, without any loathing, I wanted that. But still, I never could have brought myself to hate you."

Rhaenys never spared a thought about it, how this half-Stark must have felt when the Targaryen was regarded as more of a Stark than he was. For that, she felt ashamed. "How come? You had every reason to..."

"It seemed wrong to have hated someone who suffered so much, as young as you were. It also seemed wrong to hate the girl my brother was going to marry." Jon Snow smiled kindly, before leaning forward to kiss her brow. "It also helped that you were so kind to me." Rhaenys closed her eyes briefly; had Aegon lived, he would've only been a year older than Jon. She liked to think that Jon was the brother Aegon could have been. 

"Remember the promise you made to me?" Rhaenys murmured. "Back in Winterfell?" For the Lannisters to never take anything more from her. For him and the Starks to return home. For her to grow old with Robb. 

"Of course I do," Jon replied. "As your bastard good-brother, its my duty to remember."

At the sudden sound of bootsteps, they both turned their heads to where the Windwyrm rose, as Asha and Wylla hurried across the bridge towards them. "Ships," Asha said. "Six of them."

"The Lannisters?" Jon asked. 

"We're not sure," Wylla replied breathlessly. "No lions flew from the masts-- only seven pointed-stars."

\---

Even though the ships were few, Rhaenys refused to be careless. She called for a garrison, commanded by Jon Connington, to remain at the castle along with the Hand, Tyrion Lannister. Lady Asha and Lord Stannis Baratheon were charged with commanding another garrison, retreating forces if needed. Preserving their armies was the staple concern. By the time Rhaenys and her host reached the beach were the ships had landed, men were already striding across the black sands. At Robb's left hand, Rhaenys laced her fingers into his, gripping at his wrist with her other hand. Robb's sword-hand was clenched, only inches from his hilt. Jon Snow hadn't strayed far from his half-brother and good-sister, his brow furrowed in uncertainty. 

The men were knights, though their garb was unlike any Rhaenys had seen. They wore inlaid silver armor over hair shirts, rainbow cloaks, and swords with star-shaped crystals set in the pommels. A man stepped forward, eerily familiar. Like some of the men behind him, his hair was shorn to his scalp and he donned rough-spun robes of black wool, fastened around his waist with stone-colored chains.The most striking and disturbing of his features was the seven-pointed star carved into his forehead; the crimson of the scar shown as if only cut into his skin yesterday. Yet, had it not been for his emerald eyes, Rhaenys would have never guessed the man's name. "Ser Lancel," she greeted. 

"Once, but not anymore," Lancel Lannister replied placidly. "I was a different man when we last met, but he was left to a time gone past." He laced his fingers together as he studied her. "But you, Rhaenys Targaryen, have seemingly remained the same woman."

"Alive, you mean."

"Quite," Lancel replied, an edge to his voice as he glanced at Robb. "Both of you." Another man, one of the knights, emerged from the ranks. He was a towering man, his dark hair close-cropped against his scalp. His heavy brow and woolly beard made his cheeks look more gaunt, and his overall appearance even more menacing. Lancel held his hand up, dismissing further movement from knight. "Not yet, Ser Theodan," he said ominously. "My lady, may I inquire the whereabouts of Loras Tyrell?"

Ser Loras Tyrell was all but dead from a mace blow, arrows, a crossbow bolt, and boiling oil that burnt him from the side of his neck to his shoulder, leaving the flesh pink and blistered. Tyrion had once mentioned that half the girls in the realm wanted to bed the Knight of Flowers, and all of the boys wanted to be him-- upon seeing him for herself, Rhaenys couldn't help but think that neither of those things were true anymore. "Ser Loras is dead," she lied. "No more than a day after we took back Dragonstone, he yielded to his terrible injuries." 

"I see...Queen Margaery will be most heartbroken when she learns of her brother's passing." Lancel kept his fingers entwined together, oddly even-tempered. "But Loras Tyrell had broken the laws of gods and men. For that, his soul will weigh him down as he plummets beneath the seven hells." 

Cletus Yronwood barked a laugh. "Is this what Tywin sends? A Poor Fellow to preach the word of the Seven?"

But Lancel kept his eyes fixed on Rhaenys. "It is my duty to deliver justice to those who are profane. We can help them, show them the path to peace in the light of the Seven. As for you, Lady Rhaenys, the light at your path's end has long been diminished. There is no atonement for the crimes you have committed."

"Treason?" Robb asked dryly. "Refusal to bend the knee to a bastard king?"

But Lancel's answer was something far more: "the murder of Princess Myrcella Baratheon."

Rhaenys' face fell as well as her heart. Myrcella was dead? The girl had been only nine when she came to Winterfell, delicate, courteous, and beautiful. It was hard to think that she was Cersei's daughter. Harder to think that she was murdered. _"What?!"_ Robb spat and outcry echoed among Rhaenys' men, with some even placing their hands at their hilts, inviting the same action from the silver-clad knights.

"Liar!" Jon growled.

"Only a beast would harm a little girl!" Quentyn Martell hissed.

"A little girl whose body was delivered to King Tommen in a Targaryen banner!" Lancel retorted. "Reminiscence of the past, Lady Rhaenys?"

"I didn't kill her!" Rhaenys said angrily. "I gave no orders to!" 

"Take your men and leave here, Lannister," Robb demanded. "And tell Cersei we've enough of her lies!"

"Had my cousin not demand that the dragonspawn's banner be burned, I would have thrown it at your feet," Lancel said. "There are only two Targaryens left in this world. One is far in the east and the other stands before me. The Faith is satisfied that there is enough evidence to bring her to trial." Rhaenys shook her head, indignant at the farce unfolding in front of her. If the Lannisters succeeded in bringing her to a formal trial, it would hardly be a fair one. 

"The Faith has no power to do this!" Ser Manfrey Martell declared. "Maegor the Cruel made sure of it!"

"The Faith Militant has been reborn," Lancel declared reverently "What you see before you are the blessed orders of the Sword and the Star, restored to their fullest and prepared to rid this sinful realm of all that is wrong and evil." He turned to Ser Theodan. "Take her."

"You will not!" Robb snarled, with a look no different than a seething wolf. Before he could draw his sword, two knights strode forward and seized him, mercilessly tearing him from Rhaenys so that Ser Theodan could grab her by the arm. At once, the men called the Swords and Stars converged forward and around them, the knights drawing their blades and forcing Ser Manfrey, Jon Snow, and the rest onto their knees. The rest of Rhaenys' host drew their steel, charging forward to give the Faith the fight they had dared to start. 

"Let him go!" Rhaenys spat, struggling in Ser Theodan's iron grip as the two knights hauled Robb before Lancel Lannister. "Let him go _now_!" She attempted to twist around and strike the knight's face with her free hand, but he caught it easily and roughly pinned it behind her back.

"Robb Stark, the lord of a house of traitors and a kneeler to false gods," Lancel remarked. "We shall find a place in Baelor's sept for you as well." 

"Tell that brute to get his hands off of my wife!" Robb retorted, trying to wrench away from the knights. 

"Your wife is a murderer and, if Lord Walder Frey is not a liar, a witch as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allow me to let you know what happened the past month. My grandfather was in the hospital since my last update, and that's where i've been most of the nights and weekends. He passed away last wednesday. The funeral was yesterday. I have an exam in two days.
> 
> You could say that i'm stressed and exhausted af.
> 
> PS: If things seem confusing so far, pls bear with me. I (think) I know what I'm doing. :3


	67. the pieces and the players

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Faith Militant had forgotten something rather important."

The Faith Militant had forgotten something rather important– the love that a child bore for her mother. Every one of the Swords and Stars came to remember that as a shadow turned the black-sanded beach even darker. The heavy beat of wings and the high-bells of dragon song was enough to stir them all into confusion. Sonaral landed upon the ground, causing the sands to shift and tremble. The dark frost leather of her outstretched wings shown in the sun like a winter sky as she bared her teeth and shrieked. Lancel Lannister gaped at the sight of the dragon as he attempted to murmur what were surely prayers under his breath. But Sonaral paid the Lannister no heed, not yet. Her unblinking eyes were fixed on Ser Theodan and the dragonmother he was roughly gripping. The knight gritted his teeth, calling for the Warrior’s strength to slay the monster. However, another two knights were quick to release their captive, as two more massive beasts-- wolves of unthinkable size-- hurled themselves at them. Ser Theodan cursed; the monsters were outnumbered by men, but none of that mattered. The knight watched as his brothers were swallowed whole by flames of orange, yellow, and pale blue, broiled within their own silver shells…

Rhaenys finally wrested from his grip and Ser Theodan met his own fiery death soon after. As the rest of her host clashed with the Militant, Cletus Yronwood grabbed her arm and tried to urge her away from the fray. In the corner of her eye, she caught the glimpse of the castle's garrison charging towards them. Cletus grunted, a cut above his idle eye dripping red down his face. “When did the godsworn become so bloody violent?”

“Let me go!” Rhaenys snapped, pulling away from him and hurrying towards Robb. Lancel had stumbled in his shock, almost knelt in prayer as the dragon spat fire upon his precious Militant. There was only one person who would have dared to stop Robb from driving his sword into the Lannister's exposed neck-- she all but knocked him into the sand as she hurled herself at him. "Not yet,” Rhaenys breathed, gripping her husband's arm. Robb clenched the hilt of the longsword, torn between ending the miserable lion's life and yielding to his wife and queen's request. It was Jon Snow who made the choice for him, as he strode over to where Lancel cowered to hold the edge of his steel over him. 

"We'll take him back to Dragonstone with the rest," he assured Rhaenys. 

Rhaenys nodded and gently pulled Robb away from the Lannister. The fight that the Faith Militant thought to start ended in a rout. Scorched and ripped corpses were scattered and the survivors were already being dragged back to the castle. "See?" she said, as airily as she could have managed. "I handled it." Truthfully, her heart was beating wildly and she was sure that there were bruises where Ser Theodan had grabbed and held her. 

"Rhaenys," Robb said, his voice strained as he finally sheathed his sword. "If Sonaral hadn't come--"

"Then Lord Connington's garrison would have," Rhaenys said. "If somehow, we were taken out to sea, then Asha's fleet would have come."

"Are we sure of that?" Robb asked, almost demanded. All that mistrust he had returned to Rhaenys with was in full sight once more. 

"Robb, these people won't betray us," she said quietly as Grey Wind padded over to them, his dark muzzle embrued with blood. Rhaenys glanced behind her, towards the great Valyrian-forged fortress. "Doesn't that prove it?" The only reason they were standing upon the beach of Dragonstone was because she found it within herself to trust again. 

"It's still only a castle," Robb sighed. "When the oaths sworn to your crown are fulfilled to land and sea, then that proves it."

Rhaenys bowed her head, trying to stay the unpleasant feeling that nagged her mind-- King Aerys' mistrust of his own people had costed him dearly. Robb murmured her name, and she lifted her eyes to gaze upon his face. "No more risks," he beseeched. "You're a brave and willful thing and I love you for it, but I can't lose you again. Promise me, Rhae."

She leaned against his shoulder, weary. "I promise."

\---

Lord Tyrion was waiting at Dragonstone's portcullis and he appeared quite agitated. He had surely met eyes with his cousin Lancel, as the rest of the prisoners were hauled towards the dungeons, but Rhaenys knew such a thing could hardly claim the cause of his discontent. She walked up to him, Grey Wind loyally at her heels while, up upon the first curtain wall, Sonaral roosted and watched with the stone creatures. "Something troubling you, my lord?" Rhaenys asked. 

Tyrion sighed, pressing his fingertips into his temple. "If I may remind you--- you are queen here. You needn't have to confront your enemies away from your halls."

"Sonaral can't fit in any hall."

"And was it worth the risk?" He challenged. "What if she hadn't come--"

"Robb already told me," Rhaenys said crossly. "Don't trouble yourself, Lord Tyrion." She strode into the courtyard, watching as the last of the thirty prisoners disappeared form view. She wondered if she could ever be the queen who patiently sat upon her throne. The Swords and Stars would have never dared to attack had they came to her in Dragonstone's own elaborate throne room. But as she told Tyrion; a dragon could never rest comfortably in a castle chamber. 

"I was surprised to see Lancel in this lot," Tyrion remarked as he stood by her, wisely ignoring the start of their conversation. "Seeing that he renounced all his titles and lands in favor of the Faith."

"Those men called themselves the Sword and Star. The Faith Militant." Rhaenys looked down to him, watching as he furrowed his brow. A well-read man, of course he knew all about the holy order of men and Maegor the Cruel's personal war against them. "I'm sure your sister had something to do with it."

"Only her," Tyrion agreed darkly. "That being said, I wonder how much it pained her to tiptoe behind our father's back. Lord Tywin would have never allowed the Militant to reform-- even he is brighter than that."

"Good to know that the Faith concerns Tywin more than having wedding guests murdered."

"No, this could work in our favor," the Lannister mused. "The Faith has been outraged since Lord Stark was executed upon the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. The sudden death of a High Septon couldn't stop the Militant now. A shade of power is all they need, as they've been without any for more than three-hundred years. Cersei's prized stallion will eventually kick her in the face, if it hasn't already. Not even Tywin would be able to rein it without enticing bedlam."

"But the Faith will become our problem soon enough."

"You were born from Jaehaerys' line, not Maegor's. I have no doubt that you shall oversee a peaceful end to the Faith Militant." Rhaenys ran her fingers through Grey Wind's fur, glad for the warmth. Tyrion seemed pleased with Cersei's folly; yet another distraction that the Lannisters had to sort out. "If I may ask, what atrocious sin did Lancel and his pious knights think to persecute you for?"

"For the murder of--" Suddenly, Rhaenys' words lost their bearing. Myrcella was still Tyrion's niece. 

"Murder?" Tyrion echoed. "Whose?"

"...Myrcella Baratheon's."

Tyrion stared at her, mouth slightly agape with incredulity. "The murder," he repeated. "Of Myrcella Baratheon….that can't be."

"I wish it wasn't," she replied dully. "Would Cersei lie about such a thing?"

"Never... the only thing I ever admired her for was the love she bore for all of her children." Tyrion's gaze wandered up to the curtain wall where Sonaral was still perched. Rhaenys pressed her lips together, wondering how such a day came upon her, where she felt heartache for a Lannister.

"I am sorry, Lord Tyrion."

"She had all of her mother's beauty, and none of her nature," he said, his voice growing heavy as he spoke of Myrcella "Braver than Tommen. Brighter and more confident as well. Quick wits and polished courtesies. Nothing daunted her, not even Joffrey…"

"I'll make sure she sees justice," Rhaenys vowed. 

"The irony of it," Tyrion uttered. "That you'd promise justice for a crime Cersei thought to blame you for." 

Grey Wind yelped softly, as Theon approached them. "Rhaenys," he said quietly. "The sentinels from the isle's northernmost point just sent a raven...there is another ship making for Dragonstone."

"Only one ship?" Rhaenys queried, as Tyrion cursed.

"Aye, coming from the north. She's flying peace banners and judging by her speed, she would make landfall at the southern port by dusk."

 _The north?_ She would have expected fleets from the west, from King's Landing. "What about the sails, Theon?"

"Those of House Arryn."

\---

Finally heeding the shared concerns of Robb and Tyrion, Rhaenys sent Jon Snow and a host to meet the lone ship and return to Dragonstone with its company. She and Jon both had a inkling of who would've sailed south aboard a ship bearing Arryn colors-- and they both weren't sure what to made of it. Rhaenys, along with her king, lords, and ladies gathered in the Great Hall, sat at the supper-laden longtable as they waited. Her appetite had deserted her and she barely picked at the meal of roasted venison and mushrooms. She glanced over to Tyrion, who seemed to had taken more wine after she shared her guess of a visitant lord. Stannis Baratheon, whose face was not one to ever betray his feelings, had furrowed his heavy brow as he watched the twilit sky. "Rhaenys," Robb murmured to her. When she looked to him, he slid a salver full of applecakes towards her. 

"I'm not hungry," she said in response.

"Applecakes are your favorite," he reminded her. "You have to eat something." 

The little cakes were fragrant with cinnamon and sprinkled with crumbles, just like the ones Gage made. Relenting, Rhaenys picked one off the salver, tearing away a piece to eat. The taste of warmth and spices and apples capered about her tongue, kindling memories of childhood and innocence. "The apple tree where we learned to climb, it's still there you know." She said, plucking another morsel of cake. Large and old as she knew it to be. Bare and gnarled in the face of the cold and snow, but Rhaenys could easily reminisce upon the countless white blossoms that bloomed with the red fruit. 

"I'm glad to hear," Robb replied, smiling at her. "We had such fun playing in it."

Joy tugged at Rhaenys' lips, the taste of cinnamon still on her tongue. The old apple tree firmly rooted near the broken walls of the First Keep belonged to the children and the children alone. Sansa and Jeyne Poole never made it higher than the lowest branch, preferring to perch there while Robb, Bran, Jon, Theon, Rhaenys, and Arya scrambled along boughs, daring one another to go higher. It was Bran who always reached as tall as the tree grew, returning to the ground with the reddest and sweetest apples. "Do you remember when you used to climb the high branches and pitch apples at me?"

Robb chuckled, caressing the sleeve of her gown with his knuckles. "I would've never found it as amusing if I had actually hit you." 

Suddenly, the dragon-mouth doors swung open, and all of Rhaenys' joy left through them as Lord Petyr Baelish strode in. "Queen Rhaenys," he hailed wholeheartedly, as Jon Snow and the rest of the host closely followed him. Remembering her courtesies, Rhaenys rose from her chair, and the rest followed. 

"Welcome to Dragonstone, Lord Baelish," she said as graciously as she could have. 

"A welcome I thought i'd never hear," he replied warmly as he came over to her. The silver mockingbird pin at his throat glinted in the candlelight, along with his grey-green eyes. "Much less from a Targaryen." Then his gaze shifted unto Robb. "And you must be Robb Stark," Lord Baelish remarked. "I've long wanted to meet Cat's firstborn son."

"Lord Baelish," Robb greeted evenly. 

Rhaenys wondered if Littlefinger and all his cleverness knew that she had told Robb about what he had intended for Sansa-- to marry her to the cruel son of the man who betrayed and murdered them. _He knows,_ she decided, and the thought pleased her. Lord Baelish's gaze swept along the longtable, and he grinned when it rested on Tyrion-- a smile that did nothing to disguise his misgivings, revealing that Sansa did not tell him anything about Tyrion. "Tyrion Lannister," Littlefinger uttered, as he took a vacant seat across from him. "Seated at Rhaenys Targaryen's table. A blind man would give all he could to see it for himself." 

Tyrion snorted quietly into his wine cup. "Then the blind man's restored sight will fall onto you and question your presence as well." 

"We are here for the same reason, it seems," Littlefinger claimed, his eyes flitting to the dragonglass pin on Tyrion's surcoat. "To help see the true queen to the Iron Throne." A serving girl approached Lord Baelish with a decanter of wine, while another girl began to refill the goblets of everyone else. "Dragonstone's cellar not to your fancy, Your Grace?" Lord Baelish asked as Rhaenys' own cup was filled with water. 

"She's with child," Ser Gerold Dayne remarked, swilling his unsweetened lemonwater.

"Oh?" Lord Baelish mused, looking upon Rhaenys once more. "Wonderful news, my queen." He lifted his goblet, raising it to her before bringing it to his lips. After his first sip, he asked her: "surely you do not plan to remain on Dragonstone, then?"

"Where would I go? My place is with my armies and my husband."

"From what i've been told, you've already had visitors from King's Landing," Lord Baelish said. "We both know that more will come. Allow me to offer you a place at the Eyrie. The castle is wholly impenetrable. Perhaps the safest place in Westeros for a queen to bear her babe." He looked to Robb. "What does His Grace have to say?" Rhaenys glanced at him, weary at the sight of his furrow brow as he surely mulled over Lord Baelish's words. 

"A concern of mine," Robb admitted. "But I can see to my wife's safety, Lord Baelish."

"Your wife, our queen," Littlefinger remarked. "A game of questionable heirs is the last I wish to play again. Your firstborn son will be the most important child in these Seven Kingdoms. 

"The Iron Throne will be taken within my sight," Rhaenys said resolvedly. "I won't hide away in a castle." _But I promised Robb no more risks…_

"As you wish, Your Grace," Lord Baelish said, his finger tracing the rim of his goblet. "When I heard that you had secured Dragonstone, I knew my time at Winterfell reached its final hour. I'm here to help you, as i've helped Lady Sansa."

His mouth smiled, but his grey-green eyes did not. Rhaenys had once asked Tyrion all he knew about Littlefinger, seeing how the two sat in Joffery's small council. _The gods only know what game Littlefinger is playing_ , Tyrion had told her. _I only know that he plays to serve himself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found a recipe for applecakes so guess what i'll be making eventually


	68. flight of the dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No more than a fortnight after Lord Baelish's arrival, a small fleet of ships marred the horizon."

_{303 AC}_

No more than a fortnight after Lord Baelish's arrival, a small fleet of ships marred the horizon. At the head of them all was a massive galley whose golden sails could have been seen from miles away, even from the topmost of the Sea Dragon tower. "King Robert's Hammer," Tyrion declared, without the need for a far-eye. "The largest vessel in the royal fleet-- or should I say, what's left of the royal fleet. We're lucky the Redwyne fleet had long left for the Sunset Sea." Rhaenys' own fleet boasted nearly a hundred and thirty-seven ships, less than what Lord Stannis had when he led his men through Blackwater Bay. Yet, even less would actually make it to Blackwater, for some were to sail to the crownlands with invasion forces while others remained behind for relief and retreat. 

"If we want to take King's Landing, we need every ship of ours intact," Rhaenys reminded him.

"Turn an impending skirmish into a distraction. Launch the first of the invasion forces," Tyrion suggested. "You were wise to scatter the fleet around the island. Have men take the ships from the easternmost point and sail north to Crackclaw."

 _If not now, then when?_ Rhaenys thought. "I'll have a raven sent to Balaq at once," she said, naming the commander of the Golden Company archers as the commander of the first invasion. 

"Good," Tyrion said. "Start a few fires now, and you'll have wild ones by the time you're ready to take King's Landing." 

The crownlands afire with skirmishes and sieges, enough for Tywin to set his dogs upon them. From there, Rhaenys and Tyrion took their leave from the Sea Dragon, crossing the gallery and passing through the middle and inner walls with gargoyles and black iron gates. Finally, they climbed even more steps to reach the Chamber of the Painted Table, where a council awaited. The raised seat was ignored, and Robb awaited her at the table's North. The rest were seated around, many looking to the western window where the oncoming enemy ships would have been seen. "Lady Asha has already deployed her ships," Lord Connington said, as soon as Rhaenys entered the chamber. "Her and Ser Marlon Manderly."

Rhaenys skirted around the longtable, taking the chair to Robb's left just as Ser Gerold Dayne uttered: "Would it not be better to sic the dragon upon them?"

"My dragon is not a weapon and we've other plans to carry out beforehand," Rhaenys replied, looking to the maester, whose quill and parchment were already within his reach. "Maester Dresden, if you could send a raven to Balaq and his men at the East Watch. They will begin a journey to Rook's Rest and begin assaults south along the coast."

"Rook's Rest," a Bar Emmon man echoed. "I hear good dragon men still live from the Rook's all up Crackclaw way."

"Now's their chance to prove how good they claim to be," Lord Velayron remarked. "Your Grace, if you should allow it, let me join Balaq and rally those dragon men."

"See what you can do," Rhaenys agreed, standing from her seat to peer at the enormous map before them. "Perhaps we'll launch ships to the Whispers as well." Her eyes traced a path from Rook's Rest to Maidenpool. From Maidenpool to Duskendale to King's Landing. Yet, her eyes strayed; from Maidenpool to Harrenhal. To Riverrun. "My lords, can we spare enough forces to send to Riverrun?" She finally asked, glancing up from the riverlands and onto her council. A few of the lords contemplated this, while the rest seemed uncertain. Lord Baelish had been sat close to where Riverrun rose, and he watched her with interest.

"The rivermen will certainly rally for Queen Rhaenys and King Robb," he spoke. "Perhaps it would be worth the risk."

But Robb was caught in between. "I would lead the host myself, Lord Baelish" he said, glancing to Rhaenys. "But... taking King's Landing holds greater precedence." 

"It would be better to concentrate upon the crownlands," Tyrion agreed. "For the time being, of course. Once King's Landing is secure, Your Grace, you can send men further west and south."

"We'll have more men by then, Rhaenys," Quentyn said. "Father had ordered the training of more men before you returned to Westeros."

Rhaenys bowed her head, contented yet crestfallen. She hoped it wouldn't be much longer before Riverrun was returned to the Tullys. But Catelyn and Lysa were long dead. She wasn't sure if Edmure was still alive. She was only sure of Brynden The Blackfish, who had been holding the castle against the Lannisters and Freys for nearly a year. Rhaenys settled back into her seat, and the council proceeded. Before long, Asha and Ser Marlon's ships could have been seen from the western window, beginning their descent onto Tommen's fleet. They were very nearly there as the council drew to a close. "Lord Baelish," Rhaenys said. "A private word, if you would." 

Littlefinger merely smiled and kept to his seat as the rest left the chamber. Robb was the very last to leave, lingering at the door until Rhaenys promised that she wouldn't be long. Even a blind man would see that Robb did not trust Lord Baelish in the slightest. "His Grace has Catelyn's coloring," Baelish remarked, after watching Robb leave. "But he is Ned Stark's son, through and through." He leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingertips together as he studied Rhaenys. "Devotion. Honor. While Lord Stark served as Robert's Hand, I came to know that last one rather well." 

"How well, my lord, if I may ask?"

"I watched him die, Your Grace." Lord Baelish gave her a grim smile. "Then I was reminded of why I have met so few honorable men during my life."

"Because of boys like Joffery? Knights like Jamie?" She reached out to skim her fingers along the blanched wood of the Painted Table, where the Lands of Always Winter were marked out. "Men like you?" Lord Baelish's eyebrow lifted the slightest bit, but before he could question her, Rhaenys asked what she should have back in Winterfell: "Did you know about Ramsay? Because from what Sansa has spoken of you, you would have."

Littlefinger rested his forearm at the edge of the westerlands. "Ramsay Bolton is dead," he said evenly. "He is no longer yours or Sansa's concerns--"

"You sold a girl who is nothing less than a sister to me...to a man who took delight from torturing and raping girls before he killed and flayed them. Do you think a nobleborn wife would have gentled him?" Rhaenys curled her fingers into her palm, digging her nails into the flesh. "You're the man who knows everything, Lord Baelish, every secret, every lie. You knew about Roose Bolton. How could you not have known the monster Ramsay was? Or what he would have done to Sansa on their wedding night and every night after? The North knows. I know. Robb knows, and you should thank the gods old and new that he hasn't killed you."

"Or perhaps I should thank you," Baelish remarked, standing up. "No man or god holds puissance over Robb Stark now." He ambled closer to her, both of his hands open and fingers splayed apart as if to show that he had nothing to hide. "Had I known what Ramsay was, I would have left Sansa be in the Eyrie. But Your Grace, know that I have long declared for House Stark for all to hear. A family you've been attached to since you were a little girl. We both care for the future of the Starks, and I will help to personally see to that future." Lord Baelish lingered behind her chair, and Rhaenys watched as his shadow fell across the Painted Table, across where Winterfell rose. "I'm here to help you, Your Grace."

"You offered me your help back in Winterfell," she reminded him, watching his still shadow. "I don't have to peddle myself to a Tyrell anymore." 

"The war won't end at the Iron Throne," Littlefinger warned her. "Within your sight, Tyrion will surely become Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West upon his father's downfall. Yet, I cannot guarantee his peaceful welcome in the westerlands, given his reputation as Tywin's demon son. The Tyrells won't appreciate seeing their dearest Margaery overthrown from her royal seat. And then there's your aunt in Meereen…" The shadow shifted, and Rhaenys looked up at him. His lips were pressed together in what she supposed was a smile. 

"As Rhaegar's surviving child, the line falls to me," Rhaenys told him. "Daenerys will come to remember that, if she ever comes to Westeros."

Lord Baelish solemn smile did not falter. "Years ago, after Jon Arryn called me to King's Landing to serve in Robert's court, I came to hear many things about last of the Targaryen royal family-- including a rumor that after Rhaegar died, Aerys passed over your little brother and named Viserys his heir." Rhaenys' heart seemed to lurch within her chest as Baelish continued. "Logically, that would give Daenerys the better claim over yours…"

The two looked upon one another for a brief moment, and Rhaenys wondered if she made a terrible mistake in confronting Littlefinger. "Does this rumor trouble your heart, Lord Baelish?" She asked.

"Hardly," Lord Baelish claimed. "No one ever found written attestations, that we know of, and I pray, for your sake and the realm's, that no one ever does."

\---

The next morning had been the coldest it had ever been since a Targaryen returned to Dragonstone. While still in her bedgown, Rhaenys went to the bedroom's window and threw the shutters open, watching the ghostly stillness of the pinetrees of Aegon's Garden. Even as bitter as the air and sky had grown, she couldn't help but wish for snow, even if only a light and quiet drift that dusted the grounds and trees. Dragonstone was already a dreary, damp and grey place-- snowfall wouldn't have been so out of place. Robb had asked the maester if snow could ever come to the island, and he seem fairly certain that it would. _Cold winds usually blow from the Vale, Your Grace. Now that winter is truly here, the cold winds shall surely bring snow with it._

Rhaenys donned a heavy dress of dark blue lambswool, a pair of wool hose for her legs, sturdy boots that laced a bit above her ankles, leather gloves, and a hooded cloak that matched her dress. When she was finish dressing, she and Robb returned to the open shutters and looked to where the fleets of ships tarried. "They could be out there for days," Robb remarked, narrowing his eyes against the light grey of dawn. Without sunlight, the golden sails of King Robert's Hammer seemed more flaxen and dreary. Rhaenys brushed her shoulder against his as she rested her elbows upon the window sill. Asha and Ser Marlon's sea siege had lasted all through the night, with both sides now at a standstill. 

"I'll offer Tommen's men mercy in the dungeons in exchange for their ships," Rhaenys said. "If not, then man and ship will burn."

"A fair offer. It must be cold out at sea." 

Meleys the cat leaped onto the sill, her little breath a tiny burst of fog in the cold air as she mewed. Rhaenys gathered the cat into her arms before turning her back to the grey waters. "Lord Connington mentioned that he wanted to take riders out to examine the outer curtain walls again," she remembered, walking towards the chamber door. 

"I know," Robb replied, closing the shutters. "I said I would join him."

"Oh?" Rhaenys turned around to face him. "And I suppose you rather I remain inside the castle where it's safe," she said dryly. She wanted nothing more than to saddle a horse and explore Dragonstone and the black sanded beaches; but her pregnancy and Robb's persistent frets would have certainly forbade her to ride.

"I do, actually." 

Feigning annoyance, Rhaenys eased the door open (as best as one could whilst holding a cat) and walked out without saying a word. "Rhaenys!" Robb called out, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. She continued along the dimly lit corridor and before she could make her way down the winding stair, Robb quickly caught up to her and seized a corner of her cloak. Meleys squirmed in her arms and jumped onto the floor, watching the two with bronze eyes before scampering away.

"How dare you," Rhaenys laughed as she twisted around to confront his smiling face. Robb pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind her. His hands were clasped over her dress, over where they both knew her furrowed scar to be. Rhaenys laid her hand over his-- it was a reassurance to know that a babe grew beneath that scar. "I've ofttimes wondered what a child of ours would look like," she said. "Gods know I had the time…" The dream of the raven-haired and blue-eyed twins she had many months ago came to mind her so abruptly, that she pondered if it was dream or augury. 

"You won't have to wonder anymore," Robb murmured.

Rhaenys smiled, and tried to ease herself from him; but the wolf had such a hold on her. "Aren't you supposed to be riding out with Lord Connington?" She asked, smirking.

"I thought I was the king." He swept her long dark braid to one side, letting it fall across her shoulder. 

"Not to mention, there is a siege right outside our windows…" But the siege was quick to become a paler thought as the king brushed his lips against her nape, just below her ear. Rhaenys wriggled in his grip once again, but this time to tilt her mouth up to his. Robb's hand flitted to the back of her neck, keeping her lips to his. _We share a heart,_ Rhaenys decided. _One heart in two bodies_. She felt truly whole when he was with her, beside her, against her, in her... 

Robb broke their kiss, his thumb tracing circles at her nape. "Perhaps we should go now," he sighed. "Before I carry you back to our bed." 

They hurried down the stairs and through the keep. When Robb opened the door to the courtyard, they were greeted by a fierce wind. "Send your raven to Asha and be done with out here," Robb bade, kissing Rhaenys' brow before pulling the hood of her cloak over her head. "Before the Others come and take you away." The stories mentioned that that terrible cold came at the heels of the Others-- the same stories argued whether the Others only come when it was so cold, or if they brought the cold with them.

Rhaenys scrunched her nose. "I'm sure the Others aren't stupid enough to march on an island that is scabbed with dragon glass. Old Nan said that blades of dragonglass were their bane."

"I remember...I wonder if Jon does. Did he tell you about what's happening with the wildings up north?"

Rhaenys had almost forgotten. "Maybe by the time we're ready to deal with that, I can mount Sonaral and fly to the Wall like Alysanne did." The dragon had grown quite large, perhaps large enough to take a rider-- but for Robb's sake, Rhaenys wouldn't know until their baby reached its nameday. 

"I hope so. That has always been your childhood's fancy."

\---

Rhaenys had to tempt the raven with a handful of corn to get it to fly out to the bone-chilling sea. It already tried to peck at her hands while she tied the scroll to its foot. After the bird finally took to the wind, Rhaenys trudged down the narrow turnpike stair and eased the heavy door open; the winds almost blew it shut in her face. When she emerged from the Sea Dragon at last, she was amused to see Quentyn, who was tugging his cloak tighter around him. "This is nothing, you know," Rhaenys called out. "Wait until the winds blow white."

"Winterfell hadn't even been this cold," he stammered.

"That's because you came during the summer." Rhaenys approached him, the winds tugging at the wisps of hair that escaped from her braid. "I thought you would have gone out with the riders."

"His Grace asked me to keep an eye on you. Jon Snow as well."

Rhaenys sighed, a soft sound lost in the wind. "It's fine, honestly," Quentyn insisted. "Not only because the king and his brother asked it of me….even Connington thinks the royal fleet is a distraction from something else."

"We have sentries and swords at every corner of this island, and Dragonstone is hard to breach as it it."

"Yes, but we haven't been here for long. What if there are weaknesses we don't know about yet?"

"Then i'm sure Stannis would have mentioned something, seeing he had lived here for nearly seventeen years." They ambled away from the Sea Dragon and came to the open gallery that girthed the large courtyard, well protected from the bitter wind. Strewn along the yard, knights were sparring while their young squires watched. High above them all, a Targaryen banner billowed against the black stone wall. 

Quentyn coughed. "Rhaenys…can I ask you something?" 

"Sure."

"It's...it's about Robb."

Rhaenys furrowed her brow, dread piercing her heart. "What about Robb?"

"He's more…cold? Grim? It's like I met a different man at Winterfell..." Quentyn turned shamefaced. "You're the queen. I shouldn't be speaking about your husband like that."

But Rhaenys shook her head somberly. "He was thrice betrayed, Quent. His father and mother are dead, murdered. It's been years since he's seen his brothers and sisters in once place." Her dark gaze strayed across the courtyard, where no less than an hour ago, she watched Robb smile at her before disappearing around the corner, heading towards the stables. "And he's a Stark. He's more wolf than man." Rhaenys looked back to her cousin, thinking of all darker things she wasn't telling him. "Nearly three years of war. Three years of wounds that never stopped bleeding. That pain will always change a man-- or a woman. But Robb still has the same good heart I grew up with, the same that I married. There are some things a war can never take away."

From the furthest end of the courtyard, men started to stream in, moving quickly as if fire was set upon their heels. They all seemed to be clad in drab tunics and black robes, the garb of prisoners. "What's going on?" Quentyn demanded, his hand at his hilt. His answer came as Cletus and a dozen guardsmen ran towards them from the opposite end of the galley, the Yronwood knight wielding a sword in one hand and a iron-tipped spear in another. 

Quent, take Rhaenys inside!" Cletus urged, as the guardsmen surrounded them, their swords bared. "The Faith Militant and the other Lannister prisoners were freed from the dungeons."

" _Freed?!_ " Rhaenys repeated. "What makes you say that?"

"They're armed. Swords and crossbows." The guard huddled around her, making it difficult to see what had erupted in the courtyard. All she could have heard was men shouting and cursing, along with the ringing of steel against steel. The release and arming of prisoners could have meant only one dreadful thing-- someone had betrayed them. 

"Seven hells!" Quentyn spat, drawing his longsword. "Lets go, Rhae--" 

"Let us through!" A bell-like voice demanded, and Wylla, Tyrion, and Theon, the latter gripping a nocked bow, hurried through the guard. "Where did all these men come from?!" Wylla spat, reaching for Rhaenys' wrist. 

"Never mind that now!" Tyrion said, glaring up at a guardsman. "You idiots! Why are you still here!? You'll trap your queen in here--!" No sooner did he say that, a few of the shorn-haired men vaulted over the low gallery wall. As half of the guard clashed with them, Wylla pulled Rhaenys along, and the other half of the guard kept pace to keep their queen within a protective circle. They ran down the walkway, making for the Stone Drum. Rhaenys dared to stray her eyes towards the courtyard; several corpses were already scattered along the grounds. 

"Protect your queen!" Cletus spat, before splitting away from the guard. He sprang over the low wall and thrusted his spear into the neck of a crossbow-wielding man. As the man died, the bolt flew from his bowstring, barely missing Quentyn to embed its iron head into one of Rhaenys' guardsman. The knight was quickly outmanned, his skill outsworded. As he wrenched his speartip from the corpse, another man lunged at him from behind, dagger in hand.

"Cletus!" Quentyn cried out, just as the man tore a gash at the back of Cletus's neck.

Rhaenys broke away from the safety of her guard to hurry towards her childhood friend; by the time she and Quentyn threw themselves to the bloodied ground, the knight's life had half left him. Cletus intense amber gaze had already dulled, but he still found a smile for the both of them. "My queen," he rasped. Then to his closest and oldest friend, he murmured "give your bride a kiss for me." Then Cletus Yronwood was dead. Quentyn's hands were trembling as he slid's Cletus' eyes shut forever. Bleary-eyed, Rhaenys looked up from him and realized that Wylla, Tyrion, and Theon were with them, along with less of what the guard was moments ago. Theon nocked another arrow and shot it into the chest of what looked like one of the Poor Fellows.

Then the silver sky went dark and Sonaral swept in, her wings as heavy as bells as she shrieked. She quickly snatched a man into her massive jaws, thrashing her head from side to side until his body and neck ripped into two. The dragon tossed the torn head into the wall, and breathed fire unto a group of armed men. A crossbow bolt was shot into her back, reminding Rhaenys that Sonaral, as massive as she was, was still young with tender flesh. Only thinking of her dragon, Rhaenys ran to Sonaral and attempted to wrench the bolt from her. The bolt was slicked with dragon blood, making it hard to grip. 

_She needs to leave!_ Rhaenys thought desperately, as another bolt narrowly missed them both. Someone shouted her name, but she ignored them. "Sonaral!" Rhaenys shouted. The dragon twisted her scaled serpentine neck, looking to her with the eyes of a frozen hell. "Get away from here!" Rhaenys begged. But Sonaral had grown angrier, thrashing her head and lashing her tail. Rhaenys eyes flitted to Dragonmont, and she then clambered onto the dragon's back, grasping at the row of spiny crests along it to pull herself up. It was easier than mounting a horse for the first time, even as much as Sonaral was flailing about. Rhaenys crouched low, gripping at scales and spines at Sonaral's neck. Her heart was in her throat as she uttered a single command: _sōves_.

Sonaral roared, unfurling her frost-colored wings. She ran, then pushed off the ground with powerful hind legs, her beating wings seemingly in time with Rhaenys' heartbeat. Cold wind buffeted Rhaenys' face as the dragon took her high above the courtyard, to the height of the first curtain wall. Dragonstone grew smaller and Dragonmont ever more looming. Amidst grief and anger, Rhaenys could not help but be overwhelmed with awe-- she was flying. 

\---

Rhaenys tried to urge Sonaral towards Dragonmont, to the safety of the den that the dragon had carved into the face of the volcano. However, Dragonmont was soon behind them as Sonaral continued to fly. Before long, Dragonstone was also beyond their rear and it was only sapphire blue waters beneath. "Sonaral, we have to go back!" She said loudly, above the wind. The dragon only purred, and made no signs of turning around. They flew for what seemed like hours over lands that were riddled with hills and thick with trees. Rhaenys gripped onto the dragon's scales, her initial awe waning to weariness. "Lets go home," she tried again. "Robb will worry…" Her heart grew heavy as she thought of him. What would Tyrion or Quentyn or even Theon tell him? They had been betrayed again, the darkest vein of Robb's fears. But who? 

Sonaral and her rider were soon above waters once more. Rhaenys couldn't even guess where they were now. They would have been flying over Blackwater Bay for all she knew, south towards King's Landing. But the air had only grown colder, the sky darker in grey. The sunset had been hidden away behind great grey clouds, and evenfall approached on slow feet. Then, in the last of the light, Rhaenys saw mountains, rising in jagged peaks in the distance. Sonaral began to fly lower and lower, the grounds below become more tangible-- there was snow upon them. 

When Sonaral landed at last, she scattered snow as her scale's heat melted them to droplets. She slumped onto the ground, sighing heavily as blood rolled from her wounds and wings, speckling the snow with black. Rhaenys climbed from the dragon's back, her boots sinking ankle-deep into the thick white blanket that mantled the lands. She finally seized the bolt from the Sonaral's neck, inciting the dragon to scream with both wrenches. "I'm sorry, dearest," Rhaenys soothed, tossing the iron thing far away from them. 

Once Sonaral was calmed, Rhaenys knelt upon the ground, next to her head. Mountain peaks rose like forests around them, and she had never felt so lost in her life. They couldn't have returned North; that would have surely taken more hours of flight. _The Vale?_ Rhaenys wondered. Where else could be cold enough for snowfall and close enough for them to land? "You chose a safe place," she remarked, caressing Sonaral's snout. Everything was still, save for the dragon's deep breathing. Yet, Rhaenys wished for the roar of the wind, the beat of dragon wings, anything to distract her from the tumult in her head. Cletus was dead. Her last sight of Dragonstone was the chaos of the freed Faith Militant. Surely, her men were able to quell mayhem, but also wondering of what happened to their queen-- Robb most of all. Whoever dared to betray her had tempted a wolf's fury. 

"Once dawn comes," said Rhaenys. "We have to go back to Dragonstone. Do you understand?" Sonaral snorted, turning the air foggy with her breath. She rested her head upon her wing, closing her eyes in rest. Hoping that she did understand, Rhaenys clambered once again atop the dragon's back, pulling the cloak's hood over her head and curling up again warm scales and skin. She wished for sleep to claim her quick; the sooner the dawn came, the sooner they could return to Dragonstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi


	69. the queen and the maid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Astonished, Rhaenys lurched forward, falling into the snow with a quiet grunt-- she remembered that voice."

A falcon circled high above, letting out a single screech that rang across the silver-grey sky. The bird's shriek hardly stirred the sleeping dragon, but Rhaenys had been awake even before first light. Her sleep was a restless one, for she had dreamt of the Trident, of a dying man whose blood ran as free as scattered rubies, and whose last breath was spent on a name she couldn't hear. He had looked at her and she couldn't turn away, forcing her to watch as the light left his dark eyes. When she thought the nightmare reached its brim, it spilled over into another one, of another dying man, knelt before a roaring crowd. He looked to her with dark eyes too, kindly as he recognized her, before his head was cut from his neck. 

Rhaenys sighed, rubbing one of her tired eyes with the heel of her palm. She was still curled up against Sonaral's skin, which kept her warm all through the night. Easing herself from the dragon's back, she walked a few feet away from the slumbering creature, hoping to catch her bearings. Snow-dusted spruces and firs rose tall around the small dell Sonaral had landed upon. When the sun came to the sky, Rhaenys realized the soft slope of the ground, convincing her that she and the dragon weren't as high up in the mountains as she believed. 

The falcon cried again, finally disturbing the dragon-- her low rumble echoed ghostly throughout the trees. Rhaenys returned to Sonaral, dismayed to see that the crossbow bolt wasn't the only injury she had borne; there were several thin and raw gashes along her flank and a couple of tears in the frosted leather of her wings. The lands were so unfamiliar and barren; there was little chance that Rhaenys could have found any proper herbs to press into her dragon's wounds. She approached the dragon, kneeling next to her head. "I'm so sorry, Sonaral," she murmured, caressing the dragon's snout. She thought of Cletus Yronwood, dead at the hands of men who weren't even allow to bare steel until Cersei foolishly allowed it. "This should have never happened…" Sonaral rumbled again, snorting hot air from her nostrils. 

"We have to go now," Rhaenys decided, clambering up from the deep snow to climb onto the dragon's back. "You have to take me back to Dragonstone." But Sonaral whimpered, twisting her neck to lick her claws."Sonaral," she tried again, but the dragon bucked suddenly, the frills along her neck and spine flaring as she hissed, and Rhaenys nearly tumbled from her back. Worried for the child inside her, Rhaenys leapt back into the snowy ground. "Alright! Rest a little longer. So long as we leave before the sun sets." Sonaral sighed heavily, resting her head upon her wing once more. 

Rhaenys sighed as well, bracing against the dragon for warmth. She wondered what could have been possibly happening at Dragonstone on her absence. She knew that Robb, as angry as he surely was, kept the peace, dutifully aided by Tyrion and Lord Connington. She would have given anything in the world to let him know that she was safe and unharmed. Rhaenys placed her hand over her belly, as has been her wont since realizing her pregnancy. Her little one had flown atop a dragon even before it was born. She smiled at the pleasant thought. The world had been without dragonriders for so long-- now there were already two. Three, if Daenerys ever mounted one of her dragons. 

Growing hungry, Rhaenys wondered if she dared to stray from where Sonaral slept. She was more prey than hunter here, better off waiting for Sonaral to wake and catch them something. Yet, she started to wander a bit, staring into the still woods. Glancing behind at her slumbering dragon, Rhaenys began to tread through the ankle-deep snow. While walking, she unraveled her disheveled braid, running her fingers through her hair. The only sounds were the distant calls of a falcon, the mountain winds blowing through the dark trees, and the soft crunch of snow under Rhaenys' boots. 

She followed the soft slope to the edge of a ravine. No more than ten feet below, a narrow and frozen stream cut along the downward slope where trees grew thicker and closer beyond the more even grounds. Between those trees, she noticed the clearing and the well-trodden dirt paths. _A road_ , she thought. Open roads were ever more dangerous nowadays, and she was a woman clad in reasonably fine (albeit, a bit worn) clothing. Rhaenys dug the toe of her boot into the snow, glancing behind her. She had thankfully carved out a trail in her wake, ensuring that she would not become more lost than she already was.

Rhaenys watched the frozen stream, wondering if any fish had froze along with the water. _Sonaral likes fish_ , she thought. _That ought to improve her mood_. She walked along the ravine's edge, trying to brighten her own mood with the beauty of winter. The snow was blindingly white, pure and unbroken upon the grounds where she didn't disturb. The frosted branches of bare trees sprouted icicles as pointed as daggers, catching what little sunlight emerged from the grey clouds. Rhaenys carefully knelt in the cold ground and scooped a handful of snow. It was firm and wet enough for her to sculpt in her hands. During her first snowfall in Winterfell, Jory had shown her and Arya how to form snowballs-- an important skill in the North. The children would ambush and pitch snowballs at one another, perhaps at a guardsman or a septa if they were so bold. Snow knights, snow forts, and snow castles would be scattered across the grounds of Winterfell. 

Her snowball was soon smooth, round, and perfect. Satisfied with her handiwork, Rhaenys rose from the ground, snowball in hand but no one to throw it at. She remembered a summer's snow months before her wedding, when she, Arya, and Rickon patiently shaped a respectable pile of snowballs and waited for victims behind a wall of the Great Keep. When Robb emerged from the keep, Rhaenys threw the first snowball and a second, which led to him chasing her through the courtyard. Sansa, Jeyne Poole, and Beth Cassel had drifted outside to see what the fuss was about, only to be surprised by Arya, Rickon, and a barrage of snowballs. Meanwhile, Robb would have caught Rhaenys at last, pulling her to the ground. She could still remember the snowflakes melting in his hair when she kissed him.

A twig snapped. Then another. Rhaenys stared down the ravine, alone in a strange place and wielding only a snowball. She expected someone or something to prowl from the woods below. Surely enough, a dark figure lumbered through the trees across the stream, rustling loudly as it went. Rhaenys bit her tongue, backing into the safety of the trees behind and ready to call for her dragon. Then from the woods emerged an unassuming young man with dark hair and a round face. "Hello there!" He called out, breathing heavily. He wore a rather worn leather surcoat and a shabby cloak. Rhaenys could not see any sword at his hip. "I saw you from the Kingsroad!" He continued, gesturing to where he came from. "Thought you needed some help."

 _The Kingsroad?_ Just where exactly was she? "Why would you think I need help?" Rhaenys asked, reminding herself that he couldn't reach her from where he was. 

"Dunno. Don't see many girls strolling in these woods. It's dangerous, you know." From behind him, another shadowy figure was coming into view, much larger than the dark-haired man, who had hobbled closer to the frozen stream's shore. Before the larger being could reveal itself, Rhaenys hurled the snowball at dark-haired man, hitting him in his face. He sputtered out in surprised, and Rhaenys was already scrabbling back to Sonaral just as the second figure emerged from the trees.

"Podrick, what the in seven hells are you doing?"

Astonished, Rhaenys lurched forward, falling into the snow with a quiet grunt-- she remembered that voice. 

"The girl I saw, my lady! She was here, like I said!"

Rhaenys rose to her feet, carefully returning to the ravine's edge and peering below. Surely enough, it was the giant of a woman that she had met at Riverrun, clad in worn armor of blue-grey, her straw-colored hair a tussle upon her head. "Lady Brienne," she breathed. 

"Pod, there is no girl here," Brienne of Tarth said, exasperated. "The snow's playing tricks on you again--" Her bright blue eyes flitted to where her companion was pointing, at the edge of the ravine where Rhaenys had emerged. "Oh…" She said softly. At once, she knelt into the snow, giving a sharp glance to the man called Podrick, who nearly stumbled onto the frozen water in his haste to kneel. "Queen Rhaenys."

But Rhaenys gazed down at the both of them, weary. "The last time we met, Lady Brienne, you were sworn to Catelyn Stark. Who do you serve now?"

"I serve Lady Sansa Stark." Brienne responded, gazing up at her. 

Rhaenys furrowed her brow. Sansa never mentioned any encounter with Brienne, much less having her as a swornsword. "When did you come into her service?" She asked. 

"When I gave my word to Lady Catelyn that I would find her daughters and protect them. My promise took me and my squire north to Winterfell, where I found Lady Sansa safe in her father's castle. When she spoke of your survival, I swore to her that if we ever met again, I would swear to you the same vows I have made to her and her mother." Brienne bowed her head respectfully. "My queen."

_Sansa's judgment of someone's nature has been long whetted,_ Rhaenys thought, gesturing for the lady and her squire to stand. There was no reason to question Sansa's decision to trust Brienne of Tarth. "You came from Winterfell?" 

"Yes, Your Grace," Brienne replied. "I carry a letter meant for Ser Brynden Tully, from Lady Sansa."

"You mean to go to Riverrun?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

Rhaenys dug her boot into the snow, remembering when Brienne stole into the night with a captive Jaime Lannister, on Lady Stark's orders. "Did you know that Jaime Lannister has besieged the castle?"

Brienne's hand tightened at her sword's hilt. "No…I did not, Your Grace."

 _The woman is as true as any knight if not truer_ , said Catelyn Stark. _As loyal to her liege as the sun is to the sky_. "If Sansa can trust you, then so can I," Rhaenys finally said. She crooked her head to the path she had taken along the ravine. "The stream runs thinner and the slope more gentle. It'll be safer to cross there."

"Thank you, my queen," Brienne said, dipping her head once more.

"And Podrick," Rhaenys called out. "I'm sorry about the snowball."

"Nothing to be sorry for, my queen," he replied, his round cheeks rosy. 

After Podrick retrieved his and Brienne's horses, they followed Rhaenys from across the stream, crossing the frozen waters, clambering and guiding the horses up the ravine. As soon as they did, Brienne drew her sword, kneeling before Rhaenys once more and laying the bared steel at her skirts. Snow became to drift down upon them-- tiny and seemingly countless snowflakes. "Queen Rhaenys," Brienne spoke. "I offer you my services. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new." 

Rhaenys bowed her head, suddenly filled with grief for Catelyn Stark. "And I vow, Lady Brienne, that you will always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise." For a moment, Brienne gazed up at her, her soft-blue eyes shining. Then she rose, sliding her longsword back into its scabbard. "Lady Brienne," Rhaenys said. "When the time comes, I wish for you pledge the same vows to my husband and your king, Robb Stark."

Incredulity washed over Brienne's rosy and freckled features; even her squire Podrick gaped. "Robb Stark is alive?" Brienne uttered. "Where is he?"

"Dragonstone."

"Dragonstone," Brienne repeated. "Lady Sansa and Jon Snow said you were to take back the castle."

"And I did. A moon's time ago," Rhaenys said, leading Podrick and Brienne as they led their horses through the snow."Then prisoners of ours were freed and attacked my men. I escaped upon my dragon's back." She looked up to the dark trees and the darkening sky. "And she brought me here."

"She carried you a far way," Brienne told her. She gestured towards the mountains that Rhaenys saw from the sky the prior day. "Those are the Mountains of the Moon." _We are close to the Vale_ , Rhaenys thought. 

"Lady Sansa mentioned the dragon," Podrick recalled. "Is she still around?"

"Not too far away. She was nursing injuries all morning, and I left her to her rest."

"Will you fly back to Dragonstone, Your Grace?"

"I hope so." 

They followed the path Rhaenys had made from her earlier wandering, not yet mantled by the fresh snow. By the time they reached the dell, everything was as untouched as it was, as the snows began to fall more and more. Everything fell silent as well, silent as ghosts, silent as death. But something about the utter stillness made Rhaenys feel more unsettled than she usually would; she came to realize why when they reached the clearing:

Sonaral was gone.

\---

 _She must have gone to hunt_ , Rhaenys realized. She felt lonelier than ever without her dragon. As snow drifted all around them, Lady Brienne told her that the Inn at the crossroads was only half a day's ride away. "I must insist, Your Grace," she said. "When the snowfall stops, we can return," With great reluctance and little choice, Rhaenys mounted Brienne's destrier, the two sharing a saddle. Podrick rode beside them on a smaller steed, keeping pace with them. 

"She'll return, Your Grace," the squire assured her. "Children hardly stray far from their mothers."

Under the white and grey cloak of winter, the ravages of the riverlands were less obvious. Perhaps by the time the spring thaw came, the lands would be restored to its rich and fertile glory. Rhaenys held her palm out, catching snowflakes while she searched the skies for the dark shape of Sonaral. However, the sky had turned a darker shade of grey, nearly the same shade as her dragon. She casted her eyes downward, brushing the snowflakes from her eyelashes. As she did, her eyes rested upon the pommel of Brienne's sword-- it was a golden lion's head with ruby eyes. 

Dread coursed through Rhaenys, and for a moment, she thought to leap from the horse and return to the trees. _She swore you an oath,_ Rhaenys reminded herself. _You, Sansa, and Lady Stark_. But oaths did not mean what they used to. Yet and yet, Rhaenys decided against saying anything. The wiser way would have been to wait for the safety of the inn. She had been to the Crossroads inn once before, under the care of Masha Heddle and her two young nieces. They would surely recognize her face. 

Rhaenys supposed it was past midday when they finally reached the inn. The place itself was stacked high and tall with turrets and chimneys of white stones, surrounded by a low wall of broken and worn stones. Podrick left to take the horses to the thatched-roof stables while Brienne and Rhaenys went inside. It was less busy than when Rhaenys had been there and a dreary air hung about the place. There were also plenty of children about; some even wielded crossbows. One of them, a skinny girl with a brown braid, came over to them. "It's a silver for a night's rest!" she declared, as a small boy tottered to join her. "Or it's a snow fort for you! And you'll have to raise it yourself!" At such a bold tone, Rhaenys remembered the girl-- Willow, the younger of Masha's two nieces.

In turn, Willow remembered her as well. "Oh! You're--" 

Rhaenys put a finger to her lips, just as the other guests twisted around and craned their necks to see what had excited their young host so suddenly. Willow nodded and pressed her mouth together tightly, though unable to conceal her smile. "I thought you were dead," she blurted quietly, her brown eyes round as two moons. The rest of the children started to gather. "She's the Young Wolf's queen," Willow told them, kindling wonder. "Does he live as well?" 

"He lives," Rhaenys replied warmly, and several of the children whooped.

"You're a queen?" A lanky boy missing a front tooth asked, hushed. "These days, all we get are sparrows, robbers, or worse." 

"Much worse," Willow agreed. "Freys, sometimes. Boasting about skinning the wolves of Winterfell. I bet they won't be cawing like crows anymore."

The inn door opened and Podrick finally came in, his dark hair dusted with snow and the tip of his nose quite red. "Table!" Willow suddenly said, remembering her duties. "Follow me!" She led them to a vacant table, a trail of eight children at their heels. Patrons stared at them as they went, and Brienne rested her hand upon her hilt. Once her guests were seated, Willow shooed the children away before scampering off.

"They're all orphans," Pod remarked, watching them drift away. "The smith said. They may as well rename this place the Orphan Inn."

"The riverlands suffered the most when the war started," Rhaenys said. "The smallfolk even more."

Then Willow's elder sister, Jeyne, came to their table, a tall and thin woman with the same brown hair and eyes as Willow. Her plain face was pale as she looked upon Rhaenys. "Willow told me…" she spoke, her hands grasped at her apron. "Gods be good, it really is you. You'll always be welcomed here."

"Thank you, Jeyne," Rhaenys said. "I know it been some time since I last came here, and gods know much had happened since then." 

"Aye, it's been a proper madness while you were gone," Jeyne sighed. "The Freys fancy themselves as the rulers of the riverfolk, but we still fight in the name of Edmure Tully and Robb Stark." Willow returned to the table, with tankards and a jug of hot cider. One of the orphans accompanied her with a flagon of ale.

"And where's your aunt?" Rhaenys wondered. She thought to have seen Masha Heddle by now. A woman who was always smiling, a grin stained blood-red due to years of chewing sourleaf. 

"Tywin Lannister hung her," Willow said, pouring out their drinks. "Right out in the yard." 

Rhaenys stiffened. "For what?!"

"For allowing Catelyn Stark to take Tyrion Lannister from his way," Jeyne replied. "Now's just me and Willow. And the orphans, of course."

"And crossbows," Pod remarked. "I never dreamed that keeping an inn could be so deadly dangerous."

"It is being common-born that is dangerous, when the great lords play their game of thrones." Jeyne curtsied again. "Pardon me, i'll return with your food." 

Rhaenys peeled the leather gloves from her hands-- the things, as tough as they seemed, were too delicate for dragon scales and spines. The leather was worn, and bore scratches and frays. "My lady," she started, glancing at Brienne. "Did Sansa tell you why she wrote to Ser Brynden?"

"For aid. Ironborn had invaded parts of the North once more. She also means to call the riverland lords to your cause."

Rhaenys placed the gloves upon the table, her naked hands calloused from the flight north. "You've still the Lannisters to consider. I doubt Jamie will let you stroll into Riverrun to deliver a letter." The firelight of the candlesticks and torches made the golden pommel of Brienne's sword glow even more golden, the ruby eyes of the lion's head shining like two red stars.

"Jaime will not do any harm upon me," Brienne declared. As she spoke, Willow and three of the orphans returned with bowls of rabbit stew, thick with onions, carrots and mushrooms, along with hot oatbread, boiled eggs, and the sweet cakes that Masha Heddle was known for. 

"Because of your sword?" Rhaenys asked, reaching for a slice of the oatbread. In the corner of her eye, she saw Podrick give a nervous glimpse at Brienne over his ale. "It's Lannister gold, isn't it?" She continued, tearing the bread into two smaller pieces. "And that's a Lannister lion."

Brienne said nothing, but she lifted the hilt of the sword so that Rhaenys could see it properly. "Jaime Lannister had given it to me," she confessed. "To protect the Stark girls." 

All Rhaenys could wonder was what could have possibly happened between Riverrun and King's Landing for Jamie to have gifted his captor with such rich steel. "Why would Jaime care about protecting Sansa and Arya?" She scoffed. "He didn't hesitate to attack their father in King's Landing."

"I seldom know what happens in the hearts of men. But Jaime made a vow to Lady Catelyn, to return her daughters home and he wished to honor it. He tasked me with finding Sansa, and Arya if still possible." There were the hearts of men, and then there was the heart of Jamie Lannister. Try as she might, Rhaenys could never grasp at what occurred within that man's heart. Perhaps Brienne of Tarth had it half figured out. 

They were little more than half-way through their meal when the inn door flew open, blowing snow inside. Four men trudged in, their faces chapped red from the cold wind. One of them guffawed loudly, grabbing the attention of everyone in the room. When Rhaenys looked up from her stew, the wooden spoon slipped from her fingers as she watched Rhaegar Frey bellow with laughter again. He was ever more kettle-bellied, the buttons on his doublet under strain. His cloak was richly trimmed with dark silver fur, fasten with a silver clasp shaped like the towers of the Twins. "Is something the matter?" Brienne asked, quick to notice her queen's dismay. 

"He's one of Walder Frey's grandsons." Rhaenys pushed the bowl from her, her belly churning. She wondered if she should've pulled the hood over her head, but secretly hoped that the Frey would look over and see her. "He was at the wedding." Rhaegar had left the hall as Roslin Frey was carried away to her wedding bed, a goblet in hand and a toothy grin upon his ugly rosy face. Rhaenys watched as Jeyne showed the Frey and his companions to a table, two of them gazing at the young woman lecherously. They spoke to her in low voices, Rhaegar eventually grunting: _this any way to treat your liege's kin?_

Willow then scuttered over to her sister, the bold little thing that she was. "I don't see any kin of Edmure Tully here, m'lord," she said earnestly. Some of the orphans joined her as well, all in agreement of who their true liege-lord was. Rhaegar grew redder in face and his companions only roared in amusement. 

At a nearby table, a patron was muttering to his companion, a huge shaggy dog who yelped quietly as if in response. "These Freys are as cursed as they are stupid. They keep Lord Hoster's only son hostage, and they expect us to bend the knee to their lousy lot?"

Rhaenys furrowed her brow, twisting her neck suddenly to look upon the man. She recognized him from her last visit to the inn, a wandering septon named Meribald. "Edmure Tully is alive?" She asked, as Septon Meribald sputtered into his tankard at the sight of her. Even the dog, called Dog, stood up and began to thrash his tail wildly.

"Y-yes, my lady, Your Grace!" Maribald rasped. "Goodness, is it really you?" He glanced to Dog, who seemed very certain that Rhaenys was indeed their dead queen, and that was all the testimony that the septon needed. Meribald dipped his head, as much as his hunched shoulders would allow. "Seven blessings, good queen." He then gestured to her with large and leathery hands, and Rhaenys quickly rose from her seat to join him. Brienne kept a careful eyes upon her as Podrick continued to listen to the commotion Rhaegar Frey had stirred among Willow and the orphans. "Yes, Lord Edmure lives," Meribald said quietly. "I've heard so at Harroway...imprisoned at the Twins. Him and his sister Catelyn."

It was as if the whole world had bent the knee to her. In turn, even Rhaenys would have bowed her own head in graciousness-- like a husband, it wasn't every day that a mother returned from the dead. She looked over to Brienne, whose blue eyes had widened enough to rival a summer's sky. But before anything could have been said by either woman, one of Rhaegar Frey's companions cursed loudly, sneering: "I hear you smallfolk still call Robb Stark your king."

"He is!" Willow snapped, very truthfully. 

"The Young Wolf?" Rhaegar laughed. "He betrayed us all! He abandoned the North to the cruel mercies of the ironmen to carve out a fairer kingdom for himself along the Trident. Then he abandoned the riverlords who had risked much and more for him, declaring the Mad King's own mad blood as queen and expecting us to follow her into death. Robb Stark was a vile dog and died like one!" 

_You don't get to do that, not anymore,_ Rhaenys thought angrily, barely hearing Brienne and Meribald's warnings as she stood up. "You wouldn't talk about Robb Stark like that to my face," she declared. Rhaegar craned his thick neck to look at her, the etches of laughter soon melting away. Rhaenys slowly skirted around the table, commanding the sudden silence of the inn, as people began to realize who she was and that she was alive. The Frey could've only sputtered over his empty words and insults, and Rhaenys knew that she did not have to say much else: "Robb is alive. I have his child inside me. All that's left is for me to ask Lady Brienne to cut you down." 

Brienne rose from her seat, her hand at her hilt, drawing her sword just enough for steel to gleam in the firelights. Rhaegar wormed from his own chair, his trembling hands held out in a plea for mercy. How Rhaenys wanted to watch a Frey's blood spill ruby-red upon the winter snows. Yet, she said: "Go back to the Twins. Tell Walder Frey that on my honor as a Targaryen, on my honor as a Stark, I will make sure that he never harms my family again." 

After Rhaegar Frey and his bewildered company fled the inn, Rhaenys turned to Brienne. "My dragon will find me, wherever I am in this world. Let me accompany you to Riverrun, my lady."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 69 ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Also, gotta love my girl, Brienne of Tarth.


	70. mother's mercy (mother's fury)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Her back was towards Rhaenys, as she sat upon the sill of the wide window that overlooked the Red Fork."

Dragonstone seemed to have gotten more cold after the dragon had left-- both of them, actually. _Never mind the cold. It will find us wherever we go_ , said Jon Snow. Easy enough for a northern bastard, a half-Stark, to say. But Tyrion Lannister kept his mouth shut and his eyes upon the Painted Table; he also did not wish to raise the king's hackles even more then they already were. "The dragon went north, but they couldn't have gone far," Tyrion said. "Sonaral isn't large enough to fly longer than a day, more so with the wounds she bore."

"How far north?" Robb Stark asked wearily, having spent most of his anger hours before. Tyrion looked up at the northernman, watching him gaze upon the northeastern places of Westeros, and a pang of true pity stuck. King Robb had thought his wife dead for a year, and had less than four moons with her before she vanished once again. To make the matter more trying, she was pregnant with his child. _Westeros may desperate for a rightful ruler, but Rhaenys is all this wolf has left_. Tyrion returned to the enormous map and mentally traced paths from Dragonstone to where the dragon could have possibly taken the queen. 

"They couldn't have gone beyond the Vale of Arryn," he decided. "But I believe Sonaral would find the mountains of the Vale an appealing place for refuge."

"Snows would have gone to the Vale by now," Robb brooded. He looked upon the few people of his council, the people who cared about Rhaenys the most. "The longer we idle, the longer Rhaenys is out there. I'll leave for Wickenden as soon as I can."

Tyrion knew that there was absolutely no point in advising the king to remain at Dragonstone and send men in his stead; and Wickenden seemed like a good place to start their search. "Then that is where we will go," he agreed.

" _We_?" Robb repeated. "Lord Tyrion, forgive me, but why would I bring you?"

Tyrion found it amusing that the Stark even bothered with forgiveness."Do you still not trust me?" He asked dryly. 

"Have you ever tracked animals in the wilderness?" Jon Connington then asked, not even granting Tyrion the breath to answer. "Can you fight? Are you good on a horse?"

"We've been on the road and sea for months," Tyrion retorted. "Now you decide to question my capabilities?" He stared at him from across the Painted Table. "No Lord Connington, I never once claimed to be a great warrior or horseman, but I have other skills that would be useful." Tyrion looked back to the king; in the end, the decision was only his to make.

"You want me to trust you, Lannister?" Robb asked. "Prove it here on Dragonstone. See to any more visitors your sister and father think to send here, and make sure that Petyr Baelish does not leave this island."

"It would be better, my lord," Quentyn Martell spoke up, "For the Queen's Hand to watch over her ancestral castle."

"Well, Prince Quentyn, you put it more nicely than these two do," Tyrion remarked. 

Almost two days later, a raven came to the Sea Dragon, its black feathers ruffled wildly from wind, and Maester Dresden brought its letter to Robb, hours before the king was to leave Dragonstone. "No sigil upon the seal," the old maester said. "But there is this…" In the corner of the folded parchment, there was a small dragon, carefully outlined in black ink-- much like the ones Rhaenys used to scrawl among her sums until Septa Mordane grew cross with her. At once, Robb broke the wax seal:

_Robb,_

_Your mother lives, as does her brother. I go west to bring them home to Riverrun, and I ask you to lead every men we can spare to take back their father's lands from our enemies. Worry not for me or our child-- a true knight guards our way and a dragon guards our sky._

_I love you._

_Rhaenys_

\---

Winter and war had taken its toll upon the riverlands, making for an eerily quiet and dreary journey upon the river road. The path was flanked with trees familiar to the riverwoods, though they had long shed their thick coats of green. The road itself was piled with snow, a little bit more than ankle-deep. Rhaenys had to quietly urge her courser on; the poor thing was born and gentled at the height of summer, as the man who had given her the creature said. Brienne flanked Rhaenys closely and loyally, worried that the horse could buck under the pregnant queen at any time. Rhaenys didn't think it a concern; during the journey from Harrenhal to Riverrun, upon that very road, she had been longer with child. However, after a fortnight into their journey, she realized that a soft swell had returned to her belly, earlier than she expected it to come. She had no septa or maester or mother to calm her fears-- the ever loyal Brienne of Tarth did her best in their stead. "You have been well, Your Grace," she reassured. "I have no doubt that the babe is too."

"I wish I could share your faith," said Rhaenys. "I can't be sure of anything until I see a baby in my arms."

"You've your own kind of faith," Brienne remarked. "The kind that's absolute enough to make dreams come true." There is a sweet innocence about Brienne, bewildered by her dented armor and towering stature. She spoke of knights the way stories and songs did; _old or young, a true knight is sworn to protect those who are weaker than himself, or die in the attempt_. Rhaenys had began to believe that true knights existed no longer, slain by dark times and darker men-- but she started to believe again with Brienne of Tarth. 

Soon, they came to a worn and blanched stone bridge, a soft curve over a half-frozen stream-- both women remembered that place. Brienne squinted up at the blurry edges of the winter sun. "We could reach Riverrun before evenfall," she said. 

"Good," Rhaenys replied, patting the courser's neck. But she couldn't help but look behind them, where nothing but the hoof prints of two horses broke through the fresh snow. "I hope Podrick is alright..." After leaving the Inn of the Kneeling Man, she had entrusted a mission upon Podrick Payne-- to seek out the brotherhood without banners. The innkeeper spoke of the bannerless men and their recent venture to High Heart. _Those men saved me and Robb_ , she told the squire. _If Thoros of Myr still leads them, they will come to our aid_. A letter in her hand, tucked away in Podrick's cloak, would help quell any doubts of pretenders. The Kneeling Man's innkeeper also spoke of the growing numbers of the brotherhood, all either broken or disillusioned; but every one was angry with House Frey-- the angriest was a tall and older man called Whitebeard, a man the innkeeper claimed was more seasoned and dangerous than any broken man he had known. 

"I've come to trust in Pod's capabilities," Brienne said. "And his natural knack for survival."

Hours later, the trees grew thinner and fewer, and the river road ambled over a small hill. Then, they sighted Riverrun, rising from the narrow point where the Tumblestone joined the Red Fork. Snow capped the battlements and tapered towers, and the sandstone walls turned pale in the cold lights. At the foot of the Tully castle were rows of red tents, each flying banners of scarlet and gold; banners of grey and blue were also scattered in between. 

"My lady," Rhaenys urged, as four horsemen bearing Lannister banderoles cantered over the hills and surrounded them.

"Who goes there?!" One of them spat. 

"My name is Brienne of Tarth! Please inform Ser Jaime Lannister that i'm here to speak with him." The Lannister horsemen glanced upon one another, once realizing that the figure clad in armor and mail was actually a woman. Brienne sighed. "Tell him I have his sword."

\---

From the moment Rhaenys followed Brienne into the crimson tent, the Lannister hadn't stopped staring at her, looking as though he'd seen a ghost. Yet, rather than dismay, there was a peculiar look of relief. "Didn't you tell Roose Bolton that I was hard to kill?" Rhaenys asked, unsettled by the silence and his stare. _Because he told me, right before piercing my heart with a dagger._

"I might have," Ser Jaime admitted. "But I didn't think he would've tested my speculation...and fail." He slowly skirted around an oak table laden with parchment and maps. The last Rhaenys had seen Jaime Lannister, he was a filthy creature chained and caged in the courtyard of the Tully castle. It was strange to believe such an encounter had ever happened; the golden lion was golden once more, clean and shaven and commanding a siege of that very castle. "Are you still playing queen, by any chance?"

"I was never playing," Rhaenys retorted.

"Gods, you still are." Jaime looked to Brienne, furrowing his brow. "Lady Brienne, dare I ask whose side you are on?"

Whatever her feelings regarding Jaime Lannister, Brienne stood as unyielding as a knight, ever so dignified. "I have been sworn into Lady Sansa's service," she replied evenly. "I believe that should answer your question, Ser Jaime."

"You actually found Sansa?" Jaime asked, seemingly relieved at her survival as well. The Kingslayer was more perplexing than Rhaenys once thought. "Good for you…of course, my sister wants her dead. The girl is still accused of Joffery's murder. And then there's _her_." His emerald gaze returned to Rhaenys. "If Cersei finds out you're alive--"

"She already knows," she informed him. "Her and your father, actually."

"Well. That complicates things." Jaime ambled closer to them, his left hand skimming the edge of the table, his right hand stiff and still at his side-- his false hand. Rhaenys had heard rumor of the lion's maiming during her journey's time and Brienne confirmed it, having witnessed it herself. "Even you're bright enough to know that she shouldn't be here," he said to Brienne. "So what the hell are you doing here anyway?"

"We've come for the Blackfish."

"You can have him but I warn you, he makes for terrible company."

"Lady Sansa wishes for him to send forces to the North," Brienne went on. "To help defend it from Euron Greyjoy's men."

"My lady, if you hadn't notice, Ser Brynden's armies are a bit occupied at the moment. I was sent here to reclaim Riverrun from the Tully rebels--"

" _Rebels?!_ " Rhaenys cried out. "Riverrun belongs to the Tullys!" 

"The castle was given to the Freys by royal decree--"

"As a reward for betraying and murdering me and Robb!" Rhaenys eased away from Brienne's side, glaring up at the Kingslayer defiantly. "I know guest right doesn't mean so much as it used to, not since Robb and I come back from the wedding. Where is the honor in any of this, Ser Jaime?" Was it pity upon Jaime's face? It was the same look his brother Tyrion wore when Rhaenys first encountered him in Pentos. But Rhaenys did not want any of Jaime Lannister's pity. "Or maybe you've forgotten what honor is, Kingslayer."

"Kingslayer," Jaime echoed. Finally, it was his most famed and hated title that casted a darkness across his golden features. He walked up to her, until he was no more than a half-foot away. Rhaenys was glad her cloak hid the soft bump beneath her dress. "Kingslayer…" Then he turned to Brienne. "My lady, may I have a private word with Lady Rhaenys?" Brienne said nothing, nor did she move the slightest bit, and Jaime sighed. "What, you don't trust me anymore? I might just bore with with my tale…you've heard it before."

"It's alright, my lady," Rhaenys said, glaring up at the Lannister. Yet and yet, she could not rid herself of the thought: _he saved my life once._

Brienne dipped her head, speaking a final time before she left to stand at the mouth of the tent: "You're a knight, Ser Jaime. I know there is honor in you. I've seen it myself." 

When she was gone, Jaime said it a third time: " _Kingslayer_. I slew a beast with a crown…you knew what Aerys was."

"He was a monster," Rhaenys agreed. "But still a king you were sworn to protect."

"My Lord Commander Gerold Hightower reminded me of my vows, hours after I watched the king kill Lord Rickard Stark and his son, Brandon. My sworn brother Jonothor Darry reminded me yet again, as the king raped his queen Rhaella. Know this, Lady Rhaenys…of all the vows I have broken, killing your grandfather was not one I ever regretted."

"Yet you still watched Rickard and Brandon die, and you still let Rhaella be raped," Rhaenys gazed up at him, a twenty-year old question returning to the light. "Why did you chose to kill Aerys on that day? "

Jaime dipped his head, walking back to the table to offer her a seat. "I don't know where you've been all this time," he said, gesturing for Rhaenys to sit. "But i'm sure it was a far way from here." Rhaenys yielded, and Jaime started what had to have been a confession. "He wasn't called the Mad King for insult," he spoke, leaning against the table's edge. "Traitors and pretenders, he believed they swarmed about him like flies to a corpse. He dreamed of getting better of them all someday. So he ordered his pyromancer to place hoards of wildfire beneath King's Landing. There were everywhere, under homes and stables, inns and taverns. Even the Red Keep and the Sept of Baelor. All he had to do was wait for his day of reckoning…and that day came."

"When Robert Baratheon marched on the city," Rhaenys realized.

Jaime nodded. "But my lord-father arrived first, a grand Lannister army at his back. He promised to defend the city against the rebels…but I knew better than that. I knew Lord Tywin better than that. Aerys would've never accepted that his battle was long lost, and my father would've never marched his army so far for such a lost cause. I begged the king to surrender, to keep the peace. But it was the grandmaester Pycelle who insisted that the Lannisters were Aerys' true friends. The gates were opened and the city was sacked. When I begged the king to surrender once more, he ordered me to give him my father's head. Then he told the pyromancer to _burn them all…burn them in their homes, burn them in their beds…the traitors want my city, but I’ll give them naught but ashes... let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat._ So I killed the pyromancer, and then I killed the king at the steps of his precious throne. After I broken one oath, I hurried to fulfill another. But by the time I reached Maegor's Holdfast…Princess Elia and her son were dead. I heard that pig Amory Lorch laughing all about the hall, and I killed him before he could kill you. I took you down to the great hall and sat on the Iron Throne with you upon my knee…that's where Ned Stark found us."

Rhaenys rested her elbows upon her knees, lacing her fingers together. She found herself imagining Jaime Lannister, no more than fifteen, the youngest brother in the history of the Kingsguard, pleading for peace to a deranged king before choosing to put an end to it all. "How many lives did you save?"

"Half a million."

It was certainly more people than even Jaime had ever killed. "Why did you return to the throne room?" She asked. "No one would have thought to call you Kingslayer if they didn't see you on Aerys' throne with his corpse at your feet."

"And what was I to do with you?" Jaime asked, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. "I knew my father sent Lorch and the Mountain to murder your family. I watched Pycelle betray the Targaryens that night. I couldn't trust anyone in that castle or city with you. I even thought to name you queen that night because I was terrified at the thought of crowning another Aerys. Aegon was gone and Viserys was his father's blood. But there was always more of Elia in you and my fears were set aside knowing that. Of course, Ned Stark rode into the throne room and...now we're both here." Jaime held out his right hand; it was solid gold and intricately engraved from wrist to fingertips, with nails of mother of pearl. "Why are you here, Lady Rhaenys?" He asked quietly. "It takes one to deliver a message. You should be with your husband. I've seen firsthand how much he missed you."

"I'm here for Catelyn Stark."

Jaime furrowed his brow. "How did you know she was here?"

"I..I didn't." Rhaenys rose from the chair, her heart beating wildly. She was closer to her good-mother than she expected."Is she really? I thought she was captive at the Twins."

"And _I _thought she had died at the wedding, until Cersei found out otherwise," Jaimie said darkly. "So I had her and Lord Edmure brought here to persuade their uncle to surrender Riverrun. I've already released Lady Stark to the Blackfish…. to kindly put it, Edmure is more use to me than she is, seeing how he is the Lord of Riverrun."__

__"I want to see her," Rhaenys said._ _

__Jaime was hesitant-- but not for any reason she would have thought. "Lady Stark... is not the same woman you knew," he revealed. "Grief has taken it toll, and the toll's price was high. She's gone mad, my lady."_ _

__Rhaenys drew in her breath sharply. "Please, Ser Jaime... she's the only mother i've known."_ _

__"That ultimately depends on the Blackfish."_ _

__"Ser Brynden knows me. He wouldn't turn me away."_ _

__"And he wouldn't let you leave either," he remarked. "If Edmure surrenders Riverrun, then you will share the fate of everyone in that castle. You will become a hostage of House Lannister and be sent to Casterly Rock."_ _

__"And if Lord Edmure doesn't surrender?"_ _

__"Then Riverrun will be attacked and destroyed, along with everyone in it."_ _

__Rhaenys wasn't keen of either choices, especially since she had her own plans. "What if Brienne and I convinced the Blackfish to give up the castle?_ _

__Jaime looked surprised. "Why would _you _want to do that?"___ _

____"Because you'll allow him to lead the Tully forces safely north to Winterfell, along with Lady Stark."_ _ _ _

____"With Lady Stark?" He repeated._ _ _ _

____"She is no longer yours or the Freys' prisoner. She's suffered enough. Let her live out her life in Winterfell with her children."_ _ _ _

____"And what about you? You're putting me in a bit of a dilemma if you're going to keep threatening Tommen's crown." Rhaenys wasn't sure of what false offer to attempt. She could claim to relinquish her crown, but had the bitter feeling Jaime wouldn't believe her. Surrender herself to his custody? Even she wasn't so foolish to risk that, afraid of what would happen if he found out she was with child. But by the grace of the gods, Rhaenys didn't have to answer him. "Alright," Jaime decided. "See what you can do. The Blackfish won't listen, but his men might. Not everybody wants to die for someone else's home."_ _ _ _

____"I need your word, Ser Jaime," Rhaenys said, lest she really did need it. "If I persuade Ser Brynden to abandon the castle, you'll grant him and Lady Stark a safe passage north."_ _ _ _

____"You have my word, my lady, and you have until dawn."_ _ _ _

____\---_ _ _ _

____With Jaime's permission, Rhaenys and Brienne crossed the siege line. The wide moat that had been long dug along the western side of the castle was flooded with waters from the Red Fork and Tumblestone, turning Riverrun into a nearly unassailable island. Upon the walls, the Tullys' trout rippled in the wind, along with the Starks' direwolf. Brienne stood at the edge of the bridge, making sure that the garrison upon the castellation above saw the white peace banner. Moments later, the drawbridge was dropped, revealing Ser Brynden Tully and the dozens of guardsmen at his back. The Blackfish was garbed in grey ringmail under blackened steel. A cloak of the Tullys' colors billowed in the bitter wind, clasped by an obsidian fish. No longer clean-shaven, his beard was as grey as his hair, making him appear as older than his sixty years. "State your business!" He demanded._ _ _ _

____"My name is Brienne of Tarth, and I believe you know this woman."_ _ _ _

____\---_ _ _ _

____The young serving girl had been in the Twin's great hall when Rhaegar Frey clambered in from the cold to speak to his lord-grandfather. Sat in the lord's high seat of massive black oak, Walder Frey guffawed at the sight of his grandson, who was windburnt from the bitter chill and red-faced from his haste. "What's the matter with you, boy?" He rasped. Breathless, Rhaegar stumbled over his words until Lord Frey's amusement left him with a final laugh, and he turned to serving girl; "go check his tongue and see if he's still got it."_ _ _ _

____"My lord," Rhaegar Frey finally uttered. "It's...Rhaenys Targaryen."_ _ _ _

____"What about her?" Lord Frey grunted, returning to his early supper of beef-and-bacon pie. However, the serving girl paid Rhaegar more heed, and the weight of dagger hidden in her belt seemed to press against her hip. "I haven't heard her name in my castle in over a year," Lord Frey continued, pointing his fork towards his grandson. "What best reason could you have to say it now?"_ _ _ _

____"Because…she's alive, my lord."_ _ _ _

____Lord Frey's bite of pie must have become sand and dust in his mouth, for the old man began to gag on it, demanding the serving girl for more wine. In her own excitement, the girl's hands trembled as she poured Arbor gold into the lord's goblet, but Walder Frey hardly noticed. "What did you say, boy?!" He croaked._ _ _ _

____"Rhaenys Targaryen is alive," Rhaegar repeated. "I saw her at the Crossroads inn...saw her face and heard her speak."_ _ _ _

____Lord Frey swallowed hard, pushing the half-eaten pie away from him and gripping the goblet until his spotted hand was corpse white. "I saw the wench die, Rhaegar!" He roared. "Roose Bolton did a clean work of it!"_ _ _ _

____"Lord-Grandfather, she lives!" Rhaegar insisted, as though he would have preferred such over being called a liar by his grandfather. "Her… her and Robb Stark!"_ _ _ _

____" _WHAT?!_ " Lord Frey rose from his seat, his rage robbing him of breath. "You…idiot!" He rasped, before being racked by a coughing fit. The serving girl gently took him by his arm and urged him to sit back down._ _ _ _

____"She made the most foul threat against my life!" Rhaegar claimed. "I was only spared to return to the Twins, to tell you that… that on her honor as a Targaryen and on her honor as a Stark, she will make sure that you never harm her family again--"_ _ _ _

____"GET OUT!" Lord Frey roared._ _ _ _

____"My lord--"_ _ _ _

____" _I SAID GET OUT!_ "_ _ _ _

____Rhaegar Frey left the hall, leaving only the serving girl and her liege. "More pie, m'lord?" She asked._ _ _ _

____"Get that away from me!" Lord Frey snarled. "Go tell Edwyn to come here!"_ _ _ _

____But the girl's grey eyes as hard as iron. A long time ago, she remembered her father saying that when the cold wind blows, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. She thought he had it all backwards, until that very hour-- she, the lone wolf, had lived but the pack of wolves did too. She heard that her sister had returned to Winterfell, rightfully ruling it with their youngest brother. Her mother and uncle had been taken back to Riverrun to serve as the Lannisters' pawns. Now her eldest brother and good-sister were out there as well. She never thought she would owe her happiness to the word of an poorly named Frey._ _ _ _

____"Didn't you hear me?!" Lord Frey snapped. "Get on with it!"_ _ _ _

____"Haven't _you_ heard, m'lord? Edwyn isn't here."_ _ _ _

____The lord cursed in her face. "Then where is my ungrateful heir?!"_ _ _ _

____"I don't know, my lord," she replied earnestly. "I suppose you will soon enough…" She grasped one of the candelabras, pulling it closer to Walder Frey so he could properly see her face-- Ned Stark's grey eyes, brown hair, and long face. There was no need to claim another face to hide her own; unfamiliarity was all the veil that she needed. "My name is Arya Stark," she finally said, watching as Walder Frey grew still, as if he were dead already. "I want you to know that." The lord's frightened gaze was so fixed upon Arya's face that he didn't even notice as her hand went to her belt. "The last thing you're ever going to see is a Stark smiling down on you as you die."_ _ _ _

____Arya drew the dagger from the hilt, the sound a soft scrape of steel that echoed though the empty hall. Lord Frey drew in his breath, looking down to where the steel glinted in the candlelight, before attempting to rise from his chair. Arya grabbed the collar of his shirt, easily wrenching the old man back towards her, and slashing his pale throat from ear to ear. Staring blankly ahead of her, she felt as Walder Frey writhed in her hold, blood streaming and spurting from the thin smile she had cut. He made feeble attempts to stanch the wound with his trembling hands, but he began to choke on his own blood. "You will never harm my family again," Arya murmured, right before Lord Frey went limp._ _ _ _

____\---_ _ _ _

____"She's exactly like her mother," Ser Brynden chuckled as he read over Sansa's letter. Around him, Rhaenys, and Brienne, guards and bannermen hurried about the courtyard preparing for another cold night of siege. The Blackfish folded the letter and handed it back to Brienne. "My lady, I don't have enough men to send north," he told her, before turning to Rhaenys. "It gives me no greater joy to know that you and Robb are alive. But likewise, Your Grace, I don't have enough men to help you take King's Landing." He then called over a couple of guardsmen wearing fish-crested helms. Double the guards tonight," he ordered. "The Kingslayer wants to try us. I can feel it."_ _ _ _

____The Blackfish then gestured for Rhaenys and Brienne to follow him, pushing open a pair of heavy redwood doors. "Never mind King's Landing," Rhaenys said, keeping pace with him as they entered the keep. Inside, more men hurried through the halls, clutching at their hilts and muttering among themselves; some stared at the queen, wondering if their eyes were deceiving them. "I told Jaime Lannister I was going to convince you to give up Riverrun."_ _ _ _

____Ser Brynden grunted, watching her with clear Tully blue eyes. "Are you?"_ _ _ _

____"Never," she snorted, and the Blackfish laughed. "But you _do_ have until dawn, if you choose so. Jaime would grant you safe passage north." _ _ _ _

____"Well it sounds like you entered Riverrun with your own intentions, Your Grace, and I would like to know them." Ser Brynden led them to the foot of a great sandstone staircase._ _ _ _

____"We took back Dragonstone months ago," Rhaenys said. "My men should have begun invading the crownlands. I've asked Robb to lead men to the riverlands, a month ago."_ _ _ _

____"Could still take some time." Ser Brynden remarked._ _ _ _

____Rhaenys dipped her head, glancing to Brienne. "Ser Brynden, we'll have Riverrun secured by then."_ _ _ _

____"Will we?" The Blackfish raised a bushy eyebrow. "But we'll speak more over supper..." He crooked his head towards the stairwell. "Cat's in her old chambers. She lost her wits at the Twins, but maybe the sight of you will restore her a bit."_ _ _ _

____Rhaenys thanked the knight, lifting the hem of her skirt as she took the stairs two at a time. She remembered her way well enough, having gone up and down those steps many times. Torches threw flickers of warm light across the cold walls and floor, brightening her way. Her heart was caught in her throat when she found Catelyn Stark's door and when she pushed the door open._ _ _ _

____Her back was towards Rhaenys, as she sat upon the sill of the wide window that overlooked the Red Fork. The sky was a blue so pale, it could have been silver. The soft orange of the sunset painted a broad line across the cloudless horizon._ _ _ _

____"Lady Stark?" Rhaenys asked softly._ _ _ _

____Catetyn Stark stiffened, and quickly turned away from the snowdusted trees of the riverwoods. Her strong and beautiful face was now pale as milk, and paler scratches that had long gone to scars ran from underneath her eyes and down her gaunt cheeks. Her auburn hair was thinner and course, with streaks of white running through it. "Rhaenys," she rasped, a voice as wispy as cobwebs, and tears filled her blue eyes. Tears were already spilling from her own eyes, and Rhaenys ran to Lady Stark like a lost child who found her way again. Her good-mother felt thin and small as she wrapped her arms around Rhaenys' neck. "Oh, sweet child," Lady Stark wept, crying into Rhaenys' hair. "Where have you gone? They took my children…my sweet babes…"_ _ _ _

____"All your children live," Rhaenys murmured. "Robb marches west to Riverrun. Sansa and Rickon are in Winterfell, and I know wherever they are, Bran and Arya will return to us." She gently pulled away from Lady Stark, taking her hands into hers. "You'll see them all again. I promise."_ _ _ _

____But Lady Stark's eyes wandered back to the window, staring and staring at somewhere Rhaenys could not see. Her thumb traced circles onto the back of Rhaenys' hand. Rhaenys bit the inside of her cheek, grieved at what had become of her good-mother. "My lady, i'm with child," she said warmly, and just as she hoped, Lady Stark vacant stare changed into something more familiar._ _ _ _

____"Robb's child?"_ _ _ _

____Rhaenys smiled and nodded, and Lady Stark smiled as well. "Where is Robb?" She asked, tenderly cupping Rhaenys' face. "Where is my son?"_ _ _ _

____"He'll be here," she promised, and Catelyn Stark began to weep once more._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 70 and lets be honest, I don't want this to end. I'm having so much fun writing.


	71. white and grey (snow and smoke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The dragon shrieked again, soaring lower in the sky until its shiny onyx talons skimmed the waters of the Tumblestone."

Rhaenys returned to the solar she and Robb had shared during their time at Riverrun. Everything was just how she left it, even the truck of clothes that did not make it to the Twins. She knelt onto the cold ground and lifted the creaky lid, raising dust as she tumbled through velvets and wools. She found a high-necked riding dress of dark grey that fell mid-calf, and fitted leather riding trousers for underneath. She switched her short boots for ones that laced to her knees. At the bottom of the trunk, buried under more of her northern clothes, was a silver pin shaped as a direwolf's head. Rhaenys ran her thumb along it, skimming away dust, before fastening it to the front of her dress. 

While she gathered her hair at her nape and tied it back with a leather cord, she looked outside the window, watching crooked fingers of grey smoke that curled from the besiegers' encampment. Jaime Lannister had promised Rhaenys a night's worth of peace, time she was suppose to use to sway the Ser Brynden's mind towards surrender. But rather than begging the Blackfish to see sense in giving up his family's castle, Rhaenys had until dawn to conclude the last pieces of her own plan. Her dark eyes drifted west to the mountains that furrowed grounds from Oldstones to the brink of the westerlands. Though her first flight upon a dragon lasted no longer than a day, Rhaenys was a dragonrider now-- her bond with Sonaral was ever more remarkable and arcane. 

_Time to go_ , she thought, and left the chamber to find Brienne speaking softly to Lady Stark out in the corridor; Rhaenys saw the sorrow in Brienne's large blue eyes, distressed by the shadow that was left of Catelyn Stark. Rhaenys went over to them, greeting her good-mother gently lest she startled her. Lady Catelyn smiled warmly, reaching for Rhaenys' wrist. "A good knight," she said, tilting her head towards Brienne. "She kept her promise to me." 

"A true knight," Rhaenys agreed. 

Brienne bowed her head, bashful, but allowed herself to a small smile. She followed Rhaenys and Lady Stark down the stairwell where at the foot of it, Ser Brynden waited. "I've got your boat prepared," he said. "And I hope to the gods old and new that your dragon is there."

"She'll be there," Rhaenys assured him, knowing that dragons preferred to roost where they were high above all. _I feel it._

"Then i'll see you and Lady Brienne to your way, Your Grace." 

Ser Brynden led them through halls, archways, and stairs, lower and lower to the foundations of the castle where it rose sheer from the water. The Water Gate was a wide arch and a heavy iron portcullis; half of it was in the water, while the other half was red with rust. The only way in and out was by boat, by the waters of the Tumblestone. Ser Brynden untied a rowboat that was secured to an iron ring mounted against the wall, urging for Rhaenys and Brienne to get into it. "I'll return soon, my lady," Rhaenys promised to Catelyn. 

"Soon," Lady Stark echoed, as Ser Brynden pushed the boat away from the quay. Her mind may have been shattered in some places, but she did remember; there lived a vehemence in her azure eyes, a drop of venom whenever the Freys and Lannisters were mentioned. Rhaenys held an unlit lantern close to her chest while Lady Brienne grasped the oars, expertly taking the small boat through the arch and out to the Tumblestone. The waters had not frozen over, but sheets of filmy ice floated at its surface, breathing bitter cold into the night air. When Lady Stark and the Blackfish became two dark and faceless figures, Rhaenys finally turned away from Riverrun. She waited for the faint firelights of the Lannister and Frey camps to vanish before kindling the lantern, dimly illuminating hers and Brienne's faces. 

As they crept along the river, the mountain loomed closer and higher. 

\---

Dawn came and went without any word of a Tully surrender-- Jaime Lannister wasn't the least bit surprised. Brynden the Blackfish was known to be terribly stubborn, and Rhaenys Targaryen was remembered to be terribly loyal. After eating what little he did for his breakfast, Jaime told Bronn to fetch Edmure Tully, so they could make the final attempt for a peaceful surrender. The Lannister awaited in his crimson tent, leaning against the dark wood table while he brooded. 

_Axel, I believe Roslin has called your son,_ Jaime had remarked, as after a year of imprisonment, Edmure Tully was allowed a proper bath and promises of clean clothes. In a dark corner of the tent, the singer Tom of Sevenstreams idled with his worn woodharp, running his fingertip along a string while he listened intently. _I'll send for Little Axel, and i'll launch him into Riverrun with a catapult. Because you don't matter to me, Lord Edmure. Your son doesn't matter to me. The people in the castle don't matter to me. Only Cersei._

 _Only Cersei._ Yet, when a letter came from King's Landing, pleading for him to be her champion at a trial, Jaime had the letter and her love put into a fire... 

_What is taking Bronn so long?_ Jaime thought impatiently, just as a young squire rushed into the tent, his boyish face fraught. "Ser Jaime, the camp's being attacked!" 

Jaime followed the boy outside, looking to where a skirmish had broken out at the edge of the encampment, closer to the riverwoods. He drew his sword, shouting for men to follow him into the fray. From what he could see, none of the men flew banners, but it was deep blue cobalt armor and a tangle of flaxen hair that truly caught his eye, and Jaime realized the sole woman in the midst of the fighting men. _Brienne._

Then came a single screech, slitting through the air and sky like a peal of thunder, sharper than a hawk's and a hundred-fold more ominous. The echo of it lasted more heartbeats than Jaime knew thunderbolts to. Every sword halted as men turned their heads in every direction. "Over there!" Someone shouted, pointing towards the west; a great creature with monstrous bat wings, black against the lighter silver sky. Jaime, who preferred picture books in his boyhood, had seen enough sketches, and even drew enough of them himself, to know what impossible creature came their way. 

Somewhere in the throng of bewildered men, someone laughed. Jamie twisted his neck around, watching for the laughing man and ready to slit the sound from his throat. Standing with his hands still chained behind him, Edmure Tully continued to laugh, hoarse and ghastly like smoke, for the first time in a very long time. "Archers!" Jaime spat, rousing himself to command. "And ready the catapults!" 

The dragon shrieked again, soaring lower in the sky until its shiny onyx talons skimmed the waters of the Tumblestone. "Archers!" Jaime demanded again, as his men turned craven (mostly Frey men). Cursing them all, he gripped his sword as the dragon flew right over the camp, the heavy winds under its dark frost wings turning over tents and banners, and terrifying men and horses. The creature circled and landed at the fore of Riverrun, coming in between them and the castle. 

The dragon was nearly coal black, but dark silver scales shown even in the dull sunlight. The frills that ran along its neck were the same dark frost of its wings. Its eyes were sapphires from another world-- a frozen hell. But the most astounding of it all was Rhaenys Targaryen, who slid off the dragon's back as easily as dismounting a horse. The dragon rumbled deeply, a noise Jaime thought the sound strange until he realized it was purring like some sort of giant serpentine cat. "Ser Jaime," Rhaenys greeted, caressing the dragon's snout before walking towards him. The dragon followed her devotedly, using its wings like forelegs to crawl along the snowy grounds. Jaime held out his hand, to stay the rest of his men from following him further. Any of them could get a pretty price for peddling Rhaenys' life to his lord-father; or his sister. 

"I've been waiting for you since first light," he remarked, fighting to keep his gaze upon her and not the living and breathing dragon. "I've terms of surrender to discuss."

"I remember, ser," Rhaenys assured him. "And on the behalf of Brynden Tully, i'm here to discuss _your_ surrender." 

"My surrender," Jaime repeated. He could admit that he was the real fool here, for letting a girl married to a man with Tully blood and coloring to enter Riverrun. "Allowing you from my sight was a rather stupid decision."

"Then i'll give you a chance to make a wise one," Rhaenys said, skimming her fingertips along the dragon's jaw. "Go back to Cersei in King's Landing and remind her that Riverrun belongs to the Tullys, not the traitors who held its rightful lord and his family prisoner."

"You've more of a forgiving nature than I would have thought."

"It's not a forgiveness. It's not even mercy." She gazed at him with deep brown eyes. "And my reign has only begun." The dragon's monstrous head swept towards her, one of its frozen yet burning blue eyes fixed upon Jaime. Rhaenys turned from him, walking onto the dragon's wing to mount its back once more. The dragon shrieked, revealing rows of pointed onyx teeth, and kicked off the ground, taking to the sky. Jaime wrenched around, just in time to see a stream of fire pour from the dragon's jaws and onto rows of tents. The flames were brighter than wildfire, orange and yellow pierced through with pale blue. Even from a hundred feet away, Jaime felt the wash of the great heat. _Burn them all…_ the Mad King whispered in Jaime's ear, and a steel-less dagger seemed to twist and turn in his innards, as the field became bright with flames. Fire hissed and licked and ate at tents, banners, catapults, men…

But Rhaenys Targaryen wasn't mad; she was furious. 

The siege line was long broken, and men streamed from across the moat, from Riverrun. But roots seemed to have sprouted from Jaime's boots and deep within ground, and he was frozen where he stood. His thaw came came when soft blue eyes found his green ones. "Lady Brienne" Jaime greeted solemnly. "What can you make of this?"

Blood dripped down the steel of Oathkeeper, spotting the snow with red. Jaime had gifted her the blade to keep a promise; the promise was fulfilled, and many others would follow. Brienne's face was rosy from cold and the heat of battle, yet she did not raise the sword to him. "Go back to King's Landing, Ser Jaime," said Brienne of Tarth. "And know that you're only alive by the grace of Queen Rhaenys."

\---

Dragonfire had melted most of the snow away, leaving mud, ash, and scorched earth beneath Sonaral's feet when she landed. Rhaenys dismounted, and Ser Brynden's men started to gather around her, all in a joyous clamor. _Our queen lives!_ A man shouted. _Long may she reign!_ Another said. _The Queen of All Westeros!_ Edmure Tully emerged from the throng, a broken manacle and its chain dangling from his wrist. He was as pale and gaunt as his sister, his auburn hair long and tangled and his beard overgrown. Yet, his azure eyes were bright as he knelt before her. "Rhaenys...House Tully will never forget this," he vowed. "In return, we shall always be your men."

Rhaenys bowed her head as more Tully men came forward with all their graciousness. "Thank you, Lord Edmure."

"Be careful, she's with child!" Brienne called out sharply, pushing through the horde as they became to cheer once more. A man was at her heels, towering and barely familiar. 

"Ser Barristan!" Rhaenys cried out. The old knight bowed his head, kneeling to the ground. His snowy white beard had grown past his chin, and the hair upon his head fell to his shoulders. When Rhaenys thought him dead, she was grieved by the thought of the true knight being butchered by traitors and cowards at a wedding.

"My queen," Barristan Selmy said. "I can not ask you to forgive me. I failed you most terribly at the Twins." 

But Rhaenys shook her head. "I live. Robb lives. What matters now is what we do from here, ser." 

"The Iron Throne," a deep Myrish voice said. Several men parted way to reveal Thoros of Myr, clad in mail and plate armor over his red robes. He was smiling, his pale grey eyes twinkling as he looked upon Rhaenys. "A sweet sight you are, Rhaenys Targaryen! Fragrant with greatness, and a heart long crowned with gold." More men of the brotherhood without banners joined him-- along with Podrick Payne. "Not a moment too soon, eh boy?" Thoros chuckled, while gazing up at Sonaral. Rhaenys wondered if he also saw a dragon in his fires.

"Thoros…i'm not sure how I could ever thank you," Rhaenys said. She spoke for more than just his aid, and the red priest understood.

"You were returned to us for fate, my queen," he remarked. "We are all here for a reason. We are now part of something larger than ourselves."

\---

To Rhaenys' pleasant surprise, her mare Stormy was still at Riverrun, and there never lived a horse more happy to see someone. Then there were the two crowns of bronze, both set upon a mantelpiece in the great hall, waiting for their king and queen to return. An entire life was left behind at Riverrun. Now Rhaenys lived those days once meant for her, had the red wedding never been conceived-- waiting at Riverrun. Waiting for her time to come, and for Robb to return to her

Six days came to pass, bringing with it long nights and more snow. The burnt and blackened fields along Riverrun were shrouded with white, left to rest and heal. Rhaenys had written letters meant for Dragonstone, Winterfell, and Sunspear, but the stubborn snowfall delayed their delivery. Even Ser Brynden grew impatient as he prepared for a northern march: _I don't want to even imagine the conditions up north_. Lord Edmure wrangled with the decision to call Roslin Frey and their son to Riverrun. _A wife I haven't seen since our first night together, and a son i've never even met,_ he lamented. _You married her and she bore you a child,_ Rhaenys told him. _You can't abandon her now, even if her father betrayed us._

So far, she spent much of her time waiting in the godswood. The garden so bright and airy, full of flowers and birdsong was months gone. What was left behind reminded her of Winterfell's godswood; darkness and quietness and the watchful eyes of the old gods. Even back on Dragonstone, Rhaenys found herself missing a godswood. Perhaps someday, she would have a weirwood sapling brought into Aegon's Garden and allowed to take root in the soft soil. 

On that day, she and Lady Stark sat upon a stone bench flanked by frosted shrubs where gillyflowers used to bloom. Snowflakes drifted all around them, catching on dark trees and marble statues. "I spent all my life waiting for men," Catelyn Stark uttered. "I waited for Father when he rode away to court or battle. I waited for Brandon who never came back. I waited for Ned when he rode south to war...he gave me a son…brought into the world with blood and the fear that Ned would never know him." Tears filled her eyes. "Robb was so small…he was so small…"

Rhaenys bit her lip, her own eyes bleary as Lady Stark sobbed upon her shoulder. 

\---

Rhaenys had been one month at Riverrun and was five months with child by then. She had awaken with her head and heart in a tumult, no more than an hour before the grey light of dawn. _There's no use for sleep,_ she decided, throwing back her blankets. Ambling to the window, she swept the heavy curtain aside to espy the darkness of the early morning. She then donned a brocade gown of deep turquoise, fastened just above her pregnant belly with her silver direwolf pin. Her hair was left to fall in loose curls down her back. Finally, a cloak of the same turquoise color, soft with grey fox fur.

After she dressed, something within her fluttered. Rhaenys held her breath, keeping her palm upon the soft swell to make sure; her little one had grown as restless as she did. "Did you wake me?" She whispered, skimming her fingertips along the brocade. Her joy was a lonely one, and the loneliness began to stifle her. Rhaenys eased the chamber door open, taking in the pristine stillness of the castle. Her boots made soft steps along the stone stairwell. The sept had been on her mind, but she found herself opening the door to the godswood instead. She ventured deeper within it, seeking the company of the heart tree. The slender weirwood with the sad face. Rhaenys smoothed her skirts down before kneeling into the snow, wondering if there existed any heart tree with a smile. _Maybe not…what reason would the old gods have to be happy? Their first and most faithful children are all gone._

Perhaps leaving the bed was not a good idea. The crisp air did nothing to relieve the ache that rung throughout her skull, and she longed to rest her head. Falling asleep out in the cold godswood was not the brightest of choices, but soon enough, Rhaenys was laying in the snow, her hand on her belly. The snow was soft beneath her cloak, cradling her head. Snowflakes drifted, melting when they fell upon her face. She closed her eyes, senseful enough to keep awake. More snowflakes dawdled, and she felt them brush lightly against her cheek and eyelids. Rhaenys felt happy there, in her snowy featherbed, and for longer than a moment, she left it all be. _The old gods. The North's gods. Winter's gods. They know me._ They knew her and heard her prayers-- soon enough, the silence was the godswood was broken by a quiet and long awaited voice. 

"Rhaenys."

She opened her eyes, and Robb was knelt beside her, gazing at her tenderly while being haloed by the light grey of dawn. The snow must have swallowed the sound of his boot steps. Rhaenys smiled up at him and reached out to place her fingers on his cheek. "You should see yourself," Robb murmured, laying his gloved hand atop hers. She could imagine…her cloak crusted over with snow, her eyelashes and splayed black hair flecked with flakes. Snowflakes were melting in Robb's hair as he brought his face closer to hers. "Winter's lady…" He kissed her in full sight of the old gods, just as he had done many times before. Their kiss tasted warm upon her lips, warming her skin to bone. 

"I'm sorry…" Robb breathed, caressing the line of her jaw. "I kept you waiting." 

"You're here now," Rhaenys said softly, pushing herself onto an elbow before sitting up. As she nestled against him, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek against her hair. Rhaenys closed her eyes, utterly relieved to the point of tears. She felt him skim his thumb tenderly along her wet eyelashes. 

"The last I saw you, you were atop a dragon," Robb mused. "Now you're covered in snow like a little wolf pup."

Rhaenys smiled sadly into his gorget. "How else would you have me, Robb?"

"My love, I will have you no other way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I should have mentioned earlier: i have never seen snow in my life, so if i get something wrong about it, don't sue me.


	72. all that remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Summer was the time for lies…winter will always bear the truth."

After the old gods were given their due, Robb rose from the ground, his fingers curled around Rhaenys' hand to help her up. Rhaenys was breathless from the cold, her boots scabbed with white, and her feet damp and cold. Melted snow trickled from her hair and down her neck. "A guardsman told me you were in the godswood," Robb said. He removed his gloves before peeling away her white crusted ones, taking her hands into his to warm them. "The sept would have been warmer."

Rhaenys did not mean to stray from her parents' gods-- or so it must have seemed to those who noticed. "I don't know," she mused. "I just…I like it here." Be it a godswood or a mortal wood, she loved forests. Perhaps it was her brief upbringing in the arid red wilds of Dorne that created such a fondness for trees, tall and towering and green. She liked the dark and earthy smell of the air, and the vault of a blue or silver or starlit sky above. And a winter's wood was nothing less than magical. "This little one will like it too," Rhaenys murmured, pressing his hand to her belly.

Robb's brow furrowed, and he ran his fingers gently along the swell. "Have we been apart for so long?" He asked ruefully. 

_Perhaps, but never again,_ Rhaenys wanted to say, but she knew better than to speak a hollow promise; there were very few promises she could have made where she was standing. "I rather you late than never," she said, pulling one of her hands from his to brush away bits of snowflakes that settled upon his engraved gorget; the steel felt like ice as she skimmed her naked fingertips over the pair of direwolf heads. As she did, a wretched dread dared to overtake her heart, and she bit the inside of her cheek. Rhaenys could not bear the thought of Robb being startled at the sight of his own mother. "Robb," she started. "About your...mother…" Her words crumbled to dust, dry on her tongue. Did words not exist to speak of the gentle ghost that had become of Catelyn Stark? 

"Rhae? What's wrong?"

"All that grief," she replied, her voice small. "She once told me... that if anything were to befall you…she would go mad." 

Robb stared at her. "And that's what happened," he guessed miserably. Rhaenys nodded, and buried her face into his chest.

The castle was fully awake when they had reached the keep. In the midst of the furred and armored men was Catelyn Stark, clad in a dressing gown, her auburn hair disheveled. She desperately searched through the men's face, asking for her son. "Mother!" Robb called out. Lady Stark spun around and her anguished pale face brightened. 

"Robb!" She breathed, running to him with outstretched arms. Several men moved aside to let her pass, one of them being Jon Connington. Lady Stark threw her arms around her son's neck, sobbing and overwrought. "My son!" She wept. "My little boy! I thought they took you from me!"

"It's alright, Mother," Robb murmured, kissing her brow. "Everything will be alright now…"

\---

"You think it was Baelish?" Rhaenys asked, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear. She was too cold to tend to sopping curls, but threads of hair still escaped from the coil she had twisted at the back of her head. Robb sighed, resting his arm on the rim of the tub as he gazed at her. 

"Yes, I do, but your Hand said it wouldn't have been very wise to execute a high lord without proof or trial."

Rhaenys crooked her head aside slightly. "Well…i'm glad you've started to trust Tyrion."

"You trust him." It was all the reason he needed. But Lord Tyrion was his Hand as well her hers, as it will be for as many years as the Lannister's heartbeat allowed. "So what became of the Lannisters and Freys?" 

"Either dead or scattered. Sonaral gave them all such a fright."

"And the Kingslayer?"

 _I let him go._ "Halfway to King's Landing, I would suspect." Rhaenys gazed at him. "But we have his uncle, Emmon Frey. A king's decree thought to make him Lord of Riverrun, and Lord Emmon was so certain that with a parchment and seal, no man could ever dare to take Riverrun from him." The brief exchange between her and the Frey had given Rhaenys more amusement than anything else. 

"What did you say to that?"

Rhaenys shrugged. "I told him I wasn't a man."

Robb chuckled, and Rhaenys tried to smile as well. But as steaming bathwater lapped against her skin, she kept brooding over the blunt betrayal. _Betrayal_. That made no sense-- trust was needed for that, and she did well to never trust Petyr Baelish. "It's not your fault," Robb insisted, heeding her gloomy mien. "You didn't know--"

"But I should have," she lamented, flicking at the water's surface with her fingers, scattering droplets.

"Summer was the time for lies…winter will always bear the truth." Robb pulled her close. "And as we both know, this winter will be a long one." Underneath the water, Rhaenys felt his palm on her belly.

"As long as the Long Night's?" Rhaenys wondered as she ran her fingertips lightly across the scar over his heart. If it ever happened, that is. Maester Luwin never mentioned it in any of his history lessons; it was only Old Nan who spoke of it, as if she had been there for every day that the Long Night had lasted. _Kings froze to death in their castles, just the same as the shepherds in their huts... women smothered their babies rather than see them starve, and wept, and felt the tears freeze on their cheeks… and in that darkness, the white walkers came for the first time…_

But all those stories must have come from somewhere, Rhaenys had pondered. The First Men only left runes on stones, and what was known of their histories was all written by southron septons. Robb attended to her question, trailing his warm fingers along her shoulder. "Eight thousand years of winter. Aye, these days when direwolves roam, dragons fly…and the dead live and love again. It is possible."

"The Rhoynar spoke of a long darkness," she told him. "Even in Essos. It made the river Rhoyne vanish, her waters frozen as far south as the joining of the river Selhoru, until a hero convinced the bickering children of Mother Rhoyne to put aside their quarrels, and join in a song that brought back the day."

"A song?" Robb smiled. "The First Men and the children of the forest used fire and dragonglass to restore the sun." As he spoke, his hand sidled up to her breast and stayed there, his thumb brushing over the dark teat. 

"What's wrong with a song?" 

"Nothing. Though, I would like to see the Others tremble for fear of a song." 

Rhaenys simpered, touching her nose to his. "Perhaps it wasn't so much a song as it was sorcery. The Rhoynar wielded magic woven from water, gifted to them by Mother Rhoyne. They could have easily coax the water from the ice."

"Did Nymeria practice this magic as well?"

"Maybe…she had been called a witch queen. When she brought her people to Dorne, she supposedly told the water witches how to make deserts bloom and barren streams flow again." Rhaenys slid her hands over his collarbones. "Weren't the children of the forest said to possess water magic?"

"Aye. Their greenseers called upon the hammer of the waters twice in attempts to stop the First Men from invading Westeros. Their first use shattered the Arm of Dorne into the Stepstones and the Broken Arm, and the second flooded the Neck when they meant to break Westeros into two lands." Then, Robb chuckled, drawing his thumb slowly round her stiff teat. "A man and woman grown, still speaking nursemaid stories."

"Tell me another," Rhaenys said, as her thumbs skimmed the hollow of his throat and jaw.

Robb smiled. "What would you like to hear?"

She pretended to think about it. "Tell me about the ice dragons." 

Rhaenys knew all about the fabled ice dragons that ruled the Shivering Sea and the White Waste, and Robb knew that just as well. Regardless, he attempted to begin a tale, all while she nuzzled and nipped at his neck. "Ice made flesh, with eyes of cold stars and vast gossamer wings. They left barren and frozen lands in their wake, and breathed death and quiet and cold into the world. A creature of legend and fear...for no man had ever tamed one. Only winter children….were never afraid…" Robb quickly gave up, and his mouth opened over hers. Rhaenys lifted herself from the bathwater slightly to allow him a place between her legs. As she did, her hair unraveled from its coil, spilling black curls down across her wet shoulders and back. She hardly had the mind to be bothered. 

\---

 _Walder Frey is dead_ , wrote Jason Mallister, the Lord of Seagard. _Found with his supper, his throat cut and bled. His heir Edwyn was found in the moat of the Twins…_ So the letter went, speaking of the turmoil that beset House Frey. Rhaenys could have scarcely believed the luck of it all-- Walder Frey, murdered at his own table. 

When summer reigned, sunlight would pour into Riverrun's library from the tall windows, turning the sandstone walls and the pale marble floors warm with golden light. Rhaenys had spent many days upon the same windowsill with a book open across her lap, though ofttimes her mind would wander beyond the glass and out to the Red Fork and the riverwoods. Riverrun's library tower commanded an enchanting view of leagues, as most of the turrets of the castle did. 

Along with a book, this time Rhaenys had a small blanket laid out upon her knee-- the soft ivory blanket with the carmine direwolf and dragon. Robb had brought it all the way from Dragonstone for her, for their baby. She gazed out the window just the same, admiring the beauty of winter in Riverrun. On an armchair before a roaring hearth, Lady Stark was twisting and binding sticks and twine together. She had spent the last moon weaving prayer wheels, one after the other, one for each of her children. Then she made one for Rhaenys. Now she was hunched over a seventh, her tapered pale fingers no longer trembling as much they did before. "My lady, who is that for?" Rhaenys asked curiously. Lady Stark lifted her head from her; her face was pale and worn.

"Jon Snow."

Her answer could have bewildered even the gods. Surely, Lady Stark's wits weren't so weak. A part of her seemed returned when Robb did three days ago. Rhaenys set both book and blanket upon the sill. She went closer to her good-mother, settling upon the armchair across from hers. 

"Before you came to Winterfell…" Lady Stark started, clutching the half finished prayer wheel as though it were her anchor. "He got the pox. Luwin said if he made it through the night, he would live…a very long night it would be. I sat with him all through the darkness. Listened to his ragged little breaths, his coughing, his whimpering. He was brought to Winterfell even before Robb was. I couldn't bear to look at him… so I prayed to the gods to take him away. Make him die. Then he got the pox. Oh, I was the worst woman to ever live. I condemned this innocent child to a horrible death. Because I was jealous of his mother. A woman he didn't even know. I prayed to all seven gods, Let the boy live. Let him live. I'll love him. I'll be a mother to him. I'll beg my husband to give him a true name, to call him Stark and be done with it, to make him one of us. And he lived. And he lived. He lived…but I couldn't keep my promise. Everything that's happened... all the horror that came to my family... all because I couldn't love a motherless child…" One of the sticks snapped in two from her grip, further grieving her.

Rhaenys reached out to Lady Stark's trembling hand, gently curling fingers around her wrist. "Let me, my lady," she said, taking the two pieces from her. She then aligned the sticks where they broke, wrapping them with a length twine before knotting it. 

"Oh, all my children live," Lady Stark murmured. "They live. I owe the gods my promise…" She then laid a hand upon Rhaenys' knee. "Rhaenys…queen you will be. Call Jon Snow a Stark for all the Seven Kingdoms to hear…for Ned to hear…" 

When the stick was mended, Rhaenys handed it to her. "I will, my lady."

Lady Stark bowed her head in gratitude, and returned to the prayer wheel, the revelations of her broken heart having lasted only a spell. Rhaenys dipped her head as well, though her good mother took no notice. She rose from the armchair, returning to the window sill to retrieve her book and set it back to its proper place. Then, she folded the ivory blanket before hugging it to her chest and staring out into the white riverwoods once more. 

Jon Snow had willingly remained at Dragonstone, keeping watch over the castle and island with Tyrion Lannister as Tommen's men continued to attempt a siege. As much as Rhaenys wished to have his company again, she had been relieved to know that he guarded her family's castle, for she knew he would never fail her. Robb would legitimize him in a heart's beat and trust him with Winterfell. Yet, Rhaenys doubted Jon would ever accept lordship of Winterfell, having refused it once before. Gods knew what Jon Snow truly wanted, apart from knowing who his mother was. 

Maester Vyman entered the library, his lined face pale. "Forgive my intrusion, Your Grace," he beseeched. "A raven arrived from King's Landing…Tommen Baratheon is dead. Cersei Lannister has been crowned Queen of Westeros."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate the word nipple. Why does it exist


	73. the winds of winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One night, when the snows fell heavy and the north winds howled…"

Flanked by Missandei and Prince Oberyn, Daenerys stood at the bow of _Balerion_ , her eyes upon the horizon. The sun was behind her, as were hundreds of ships. Seventy-five of them belonged to Victarion Greyjoy's Iron Fleet. Many were Meereenese built, and the rest were taken from the slave masters of Yunkai, Volantis, and Astapor. Her fleet at last, hosting her armies of the Unsullied, the Dothraki, the Second Sons, and the iron-born. High above them all, Drogon flew ahead, Rhaegal and Viserion weaving around him, as if daring each other to fly further and further across the waters. 

It felt strange to be finally sailing home. The home Viserys had promised her. A home she never knew. Daenerys wasn't sure what to expect-- or who, to expect. 

_You should have Oberyn killed_ , Daario Naharis had told her. _A good man, but he will betray you for his niece as soon as you reach Westeroi soil._

 _He's my brother's good-brother. I can't spill his blood so easily_. Daenerys remarked. _...And she's my niece too._

Even after Rhaenys left the city, Oberyn Martell continued to serve Daenerys dutifully, even ruling Meereen in her absence when the Sons of the Harpy attacked Daznak's Pit and she escaped upon Drogon's back. Upon her return, she finally asked him why he did not return west with Rhaenys.

_I swore an oath to you, Daenerys Stormborn, and I was trained as a knight. In Westeros, oaths are a knight's bread and water…and now a rarity, I suppose. My little sun was quick to remind me that._

Daenerys ofttimes wondered what had become of Rhaenys and Sonaral-- and every time, a bitter taste flecked her tongue when she remembered Rhaenys' willful claim for the Iron Throne. The woman had too much wolf in her now. She was haughty for thinking herself a truer queen just because she had the luck to grow up in Westeroi castles, amongst Westeroi people, and to wed a Westeroi man. 

_We will see_ , Daenerys thought, as their bearings carried them further west. 

\---

 _Burn them all_. The command had rung heavy through his skull since leaving Harrenhaal, the voice low and womanly and proud. How he wished for the way it had always been in his memory-- a hiss from between yellowed teeth. _Burn them all_. It kept Jaime Lannister all in a stupor along the Kingsroad. The remnants of his army were all held captive by their own daze, a very different memory of fire and beast. _King's Landing…the Great Sept of Baelor…wildfire…the queen…_

 _The queen_ , Jaime thought, when he finally laid eyes upon his sister. It did not matter that he returned after failing to help retake Riverrun. Nothing else mattered, not the rest of the small council, not the men of her Queensguard, not even their lord-father. But as he approached the Iron Throne, Cersei became more and more distant. She was gowned in black from neck to toe, and atop her shorn golden hair was a crown. It was a simple thing, a circlet of woven silver and gold. At its center was an abstract tangle of more gold that unfurled like a lion's mane. No jewels, not even the emeralds she was so fond of wearing. Only silver and contempt. _I spurned her_ Jaime remembered. _She needed me and I refused her._

And Cersei was never one to forget a slight. Jaime remembered that well, hours after she finally decided to speak with him alone in her solar. Her balcony faced east, a vast view of Visenya's Hill and the ruined parts of the city around it. Jaime gazed to where the Great Sept of Baelor used to be. "Sweet sister, what have you done?"

"What would you have done?" Cersei challenged. 

Jaime tore himself away from ruins. "Not murder thousands of people."

"People," Cersei scoffed. "Beggers and whores who joyfully lined the streets from the here to that sept, hoping ravage me with their eyes and break my pride." 

"That was your doing," Jaime said, though he did not intend to. Lord Tywin had been at Evenfall Hall, treating with Selwyn Tarth and tempting him with the grand title of Lord Paramount of the Stormlands in exchange for men to lay assault on Dorne. Upon his success, Tywin returned to King's Landing in time to see his daughter upon the steps of Baelor's sept and to put an end to the madness she had brought upon herself. Jaime supposed his father would have gotten rid of the High Septon himself, but gods knew the trouble that the Lannisters had long brewed with the Faith. Rumors whispered that the septon pondered to bring Tywin to justice for ordering the murders of Princess Elia and her children. "Cersei, _you_ restored power to the Faith. Father would have never done that. Had he been in King's Landing--"

"What does it matter now? The High Sparrow is dead, the Tyrells rotting with him!"

"And Tommen?!" Jaime demanded. "He was twelve! How could you have possibly explained Margaery's death, or the fact you betrayed him--"

" _Betrayed?!_ " Cersei roared. "All that i've done was for my son! The High Sparrow and that little whore from Highgarden, whispering into his ears like foul fays! They were smothering him!"

"What does it matter now?" Jaime bitterly mocked. "Tommen is dead. What did Meryn Trant tell me? _The poor boy….fled to the battlements of the gatehouse after a quarrel with his mother. Whether His Grace's step was misplaced or his own doing, I could not tell you…_ " The inner edge of the wallwalk along the battlement. No parapets-- only the seventy foot drop down to the bailey. "You didn't do it for Tommen! He would have been a good king, and Margaery a fair queen. You did it for yourself, Cersei."

"What do you and Father know?" Cersei spat. "Perhaps had you both been born with cunts instead of cocks, you would! I was promised a silver prince when I was six years old. The blood of old Valyria, the blood of dragons and gods, and I was to be his queen. Promises and promises became lies and failures. And what better man did Father peddle me to? A drunken stag who bled wine and stank of whores. Then Lord Tywin thought sell me to Loras Tyrell, until that pillowbiter wormed his way into Joffery's Kingsguard. I waited and waited, half my life gone. But power is power, Jaime. I showed King's Landing what I am capable of. I reminded our father that I am of his seed and blood. No one would not dare spurn me again because I was born a daughter instead of a son." 

_You beautiful golden fool,_ Jaime lamented. 

Cersei strode over to a table where a decanter awaited her, and she poured Dornish red into a crystal goblet. "Now, about Riverrun…"

Jaime was sick of talking about Riverrun. "Forget about Riverrun," he said, and Cersei glared at him as though he had slapped her. 

"Don't you dare. Riverrun is a stupid little castle and it was yours to take. With Walder Frey dead, and Baelish missing, the Tullys will wrest back control of the riverlands, and call that dragonspawn queen again." The goblet shuddered in her tight grip, and wine trickled from the rim, dripping down her fingers like spilled blood. "That wench murdered my daughter, Jaime! At the least, you could have brought me her head before you cowered back to King's Landing!"

Bewildered, Jaime stared at her. "You think… _Rhaenys_ killed Myrcella?" Pycelle had sent a raven to Riverrun, writing to him about Myrcella's tragic death-- murdered while on her way to Casterly Rock. It was all strange. The girl had been taken from the Kingsroad, just before she and her host reached Harrenhal. Tywin had summoned the new Lord of Harrenhal to search for her, but Baelish had long left the castle. Myrcella's swornshield, Arys Oakheart, was eventually called back to King's Landing, stripped of his white cloak, and sent to Dragonstone as a disgrace. A fortnight after, a mute man brought Myrcella's corpse to the Red Keep in a Targaryen banner, and he was slain where he stood.

Yet and yet, Jaime would have sooner called Aerys a tenderhearted king before he accused Rhaenys of killing children.

"Myrcella was returned to me shrouded with Targaryen colors!" Cersei snapped. "How can you let that rest?! 

There was no use in swaying Cersei's mind, nor was there any sensibility in insisting that she had no proof. "Rhaenys has a dragon, Cersei," Jaime said, for what could have been a hundredth time. "The men who did not flee upon sight of it were all roasted alive--"

"Braver men have killed dragons," she scoffed. 

"And the bravest men rode them."

Cersei sipped her wine, gazing upon him with striking green eyes…the burning green of wildfire. "Are you telling me that an orphaned and widowed girl of two-and-twenty is braver than most men?"

 _Yes._ Jaime dared to walk closer to her, relieved when Cersei did not back away. _And she's no widow. Everything was a lie, and it's only a matter of time before Robb Stark gets her with a child again._ "I'm telling you to think hard about what we're all about to deal with." 

\---

"Where are we?"

They were in a wood, no doubt-- an acre of elm, alder and black cottonwood overlooking a rushing river. The greatest of all the trees was an ancient oak tangled with smokeberry vines. Dark red flowers that bloomed all about its like fragrant blots of blood. "Dragon's breath," the three-eyed crow murmured, his red eye fixed upon them. Bran ignored him, and twisted his head all around to espy the massive towers of pale red stone that encircled the woods. Above them was a perfect and endless blue vault. A summer's sky. Bran returned to the three-eyed crow, who brushed his milk white hand against the cracked bark of the old oak. "The Targaryens had named this their heart tree," he told him. 

"A heart tree?" Bran echoed. "You mean this is a godswood?"

The three-eyed crow nodded. "For their northern company."

 _Northern company_. Bran thought harder. _The Targaryens. The pale red stones of the castle._ "We're at the Red Keep!" He exclaimed. The three-eyed crow bowed his head, and Bran took that for agreement. The fortress of the Iron Throne, home of the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. He would have been there ages ago had it not been for Jaime Lannister. _Why am I here? Why did he bring me here?_ His training under the last greenseer had already taken him back to Winterfell, where Ned Stark was a boy at play with his brothers and sister. Bran had hoped to return there, to see them all again, in the same courtyard where he used to play with his own brothers and sisters. "I thought we would have returned to Winterfell."

"You _hoped_ we would had," said the three-eyed crow. "There you saw your lord-grandfather and elder uncle." He raised his towards the castle. "But they are here, i'm afraid."

_Rickard and Brandon in the Red Keep? But that would mean--_

Suddenly, a small black kitten ran out from behind a bush full of flowers and, at its tail was a young girl. She was small and dusky, no more than three, her loose black curls all in a tangle as she laid chase to the cat. "Balerion," she sang, and the creature plopped itself next to the heart tree. The little girl followed in kind, rumpling the skirts of her dress.

"Rhaenys," Bran realized aloud. She flinched, and his heart leapt. Had she heard him? Even the kitten pricked its ears up, its pale blue eyes fixed to where Bran and the three-eyed crow stood. Rhaenys glanced nervously at the heart tree before whispering to her cat. She giggled as the kitten opened in jaws in a not so mighty yawn, and Bran smiled. _She's so little_ he thought. Rhaenys had arrived to Winterfell only days after he was born; by the time he had reached his third year, she was nearly a woman grown.

"Poor girl," the three-eyed crow murmured, and Bran regretfully agreed. Watching her play in the Red Keep's godswood only meant that her grief hadn't even drawn its breath.

Not so far away, a woman called out. "Rhaenys!"

"I'm here, Mama!" 

Bran watched as Elia Martell came into view. She was as slender and beautiful as Rhaenys had grown to be. Her eyes were darker though, the black of dragonglass. "Hello Mama," Rhaenys greeted. 

"Rhaenys, I told you to stay with Lady Ashara!" Elia scolded. 

"Balerion ran away," Rhaenys explained. "He wants to play here."

"You gave Ashara a fright," Elia sighed, kneeling next to her daughter. "It's time to return to the castle."

Rhaenys shook her head, suddenly very frightened. Elia's gaze softened, but it became obvious that something was very wrong. "…It's done with, sweet girl. We shall return to the nursery with Aegon and play now."

Rhaenys' brown eyes were wide."What happened to the wolves?" she blurted, and chilled blood sluiced through Bran's veins. 

Elia hesitated. "…They're gone." 

"Where did they go? Did they go back to Winterfell?"

"They shall…in time." Elia stood up, holding out her hand. "Come along, Rhae."

Rhaenys bowed her head. "Come on, Bal," she said to the cat. She rose from the ground on clumsy feet, reaching to grip her mother's hand. While they walked away, Rhaenys looked over her shoulder and stared at the heart tree-- or perhaps at Bran. She raised her other hand and waved as though in farewell. Bran found himself waving back.

Then he woke. The summer's sky was no longer bright above him; only the tangled tendrils of the weirwood's roots. Bran pushed himself onto his elbows, his legs useless once more. In the dark, the three-eyed crow seemed to burn whiter as a pillar of silver light crept down from a rend from the ceiling and bathed him. He stirred ever so slightly, rattling his throne of bones. "Strange isn't it?" He rasped. "How our paths can meet, neither ever knowing."

Bran dragged himself closer to the crude throne, his mind alight with questions. "Rhaenys was there when Aerys murdered Rickard and Brandon." A bone prodded his side, but he did not wince. "I mean, she wasn't _there_. But…you know what I mean." 

"Yes Bran, I know," the three-eyed crow assured him. "But her fate has been chained with yours long before."

"Her fate?" Bran echoed. "What do you mean? Can you show me?"

The three-eyed crow turned his face, raising a long white finger towards a thicket of weirwood roots. Bran followed his finger, crawling until he spotted the unnatural gleam of steel. Ensnarled in the roots was a longsword, a willowy thing that looked better suited for a woman's hand. The blade was rippled as Bran remembered Valyrian steel to be. "Is it yours?" Bran asked.

"It was never mine to have," the three-eyed crow rumbled. "But it was my father's to give."

A father. It was strange to think the last greenseer was born of a man's seed, birthed and suckled by a woman-- a son, called Brynden. "What does a sword have to do with Rhaenys?" Bran asked. 

"If swords could sing, we could know."

Bran grew annoyed. "You don't know."

"But you will," the three-eyed crow promised. 

When Bran dreamed again, it was summer once more and a woman was screaming. He and the three-eyed crow were standing in a red waste, the earth beneath soft with sand and worn stones. A round tower with a tapered crown casted a long and cool shadow upon the ground, where seven men were at vicious clash with three more. Bright sunlight glinted off their armor and steel, dazzling Bran's eyes. Soon, only three men remained, two against one. Bran watched in horror as a sword was thrusted through the back of the lone man; moments after, a sword was embedded into his neck, all but beheading him. 

Bran dared to move closer to the shadow of the tower, hoping to see the faces of the last two men. One of them was shorter than the other, and his curly brown hair reminded Bran of Meera. But Bran quickly recognized the second man: Ned Stark, twenty years old and gazing upon the blood soaked sands. "Father!" He exclaimed, running to him. As Rhaenys did, Ned flinched. He lifted his gaze from a corpse, his face worn and anguished. The three-eyed crow then gently clasped his hand upon Bran's shoulder. Without another word, Bran watched his father turn away from him. 

The vision had taken Bran and the three-eyed crow to the Red Mountains of Dorne. Like many northerners, Bran knew how this story ended. "This…this isn't how the stories made it seem," he murmured, walking over to the last man his father had slain-- his armor was moon silver, the breastplate etched with longsword and a falling star. His head was partially and gruesomely attached to his neck, and his pale violet eyes were still wide. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. 

"Lyanna!" Ned shouted, and Bran realized that the woman's screaming had stopped just before the fight did. 

"Go!" Howland Reed exclaimed. "I'll keep watch!"

Bran ran after his father, into the tower and up the turnpike stair. It seemed there was only one chamber in the entire spire-- a dimly lit room that smelled of roses and blood. Upon a bed was a young women. "Lyanna," Ned breathed, resting his bloodied sword at the edge of the bed before rushing to her side. Bran walked closer, and noticed that the three-eyed crow was no longer with him. 

"Ned?" Lyanna Stark whispered, her face flushed from fever. Dead rose petals were scattered along the bed, and she was clutching at a few with a bloodied hand. "Is that you? Is that really you? You're not a dream?"

"I'm not a dream," Ned murmured, stroking his sister's brown hair. "I'm here, Lya." His hand went to her bloodied bedsheets, then her bloodied shift. "Is there a maester?" He asked, his voice trembling. There was no other person in the room, except for a Dornish woman; she was holding a newborn baby. "Give her some water," Ned demanded. "Lya, i'm going to take you home--"

"I missed you, big bother," Lyanna said, her voice soft and sad. "I'm afraid...I want to be brave. I don't want to die."

"You're not going to die," Ned insisted, taking her red-stained hands into his own. "We'll go home, to Winterfell--"

"Wylla," Lyanna murmured, and the Dornish woman came forth. She gently passed the swaddled baby to Ned. The small creature did not cry. It only gazed up at Ned's face, its eyes fog-grey and round. "Listen to me, Ned…" Lyanna pleaded with her dying breath. "If Robert finds out...you know what he will do…you have to protect him. Promise me, Ned…"

Bran looked over his father's shoulder and stared upon the baby; he quickly became haunted by those familiar grey eyes. "Jon," he breathed, and worlds of dream and wake and all he knew seemed to collapse onto him. 

"I promise…I promise, Lya…"

The fear left Lyanna Stark, and she smiled. Then she closed her eyes, and rose petals slipped from her palm, dead and black. 

\---

Three months came to pass at Riverrun. Three months deeper into winter. White winds blew from the North, bitter and unusual. As hard as life had become, many were glad; it meant all the more difficulty for the lions to return. 

One night, when the snows fell heavy and the north winds howled, Rhaenys strained and screamed in her second hour of labor. The babe had not been due for another moon, or so she had thought. As gnarled fingers wrested, twisted, and pulled her insides, Rhaenys shrieked, digging her nails into Robb's hand until she was afraid she drew his blood. Robb was knelt at the bedside, gripping her hand and gently pressing a damp cloth to her brow. "There, love. You'll be alright," he murmured, kissing her clammy hand. Rhaenys tried to say something, but she whimpered as the pains came upon her once more. Robb's face paled and he turned to the maester. "Is there _anything_ you can do for her pain?" He asked.

Maester Vyman had already instructed the midwife to rub Rhaenys with fragrant oils and to burn various herbs; the dimly lit birthing room had grown stifling and cloy since. Many, including Roslin Tully, had gone to the sept, to pray to the Mother over candles and incense. Some of the northernmen even braved the snows outside to pray before the weirwood. "We've done all we can, Your Grace," Vyman said. "The Mother keeps Her watch now." 

Soon after he said that, Rhaenys screeched as another agonizing tide coursed over her. "You're doing well," Lady Stark said softly, clasping Rhaenys' other hand with both of hers. "Before you know it... you'll have a sweet little babe in your arms." 

Two hours after dawn, Rhaenys pushed and at last, a baby came forth into the world; moments after, a second followed. 

"Twins, Your Grace," said the midwife. "A boy and a girl."

Breathless and exhausted, Rhaenys began to weep with joy. "Twins!" Robb rejoiced, kissing her brow. A year ago, this had all been an impossible picture for them both. To think the twin children of a widow's anguished dream had taken their first breaths...

As pain ebbed away, Rhaenys tried to sit up in the bed. "Let me see them..." She begged as Robb eased her back against the pillows. He sat beside her, stroking her hair to soothe her. 

"They must be cleansed and swaddled first," Lady Stark told her gently. In a corner of the room, the midwife and a septa were washing the wailing newborns with rosewater, and the maester was waiting with tiny drops of honey to place upon the babes' tongues. Maids took away soiled sheets and towels, along the cut birth cords, to be burned. More maids came with a clean bedgown and a basin of warm water for Rhaenys. Lady Stark asked for a hairbrush and she brushed through Rhaenys' tangled hair before braiding it.

At last, the midwife wrapped each babe in swaddling cloth; the twins were small enough to be nestled together in the ivory blanket. After the newborns were placed into their mother's waiting arms, the room was left to the queen and king, and their little prince and princess. 

Rhaenys drew in her breath, marveling at how tiny and beautiful they were. Both of the twins' heads were already soft with black hair, and she just knew that azure eyes rested underneath their eyelids. She looked to Robb, and saw that his eyes were misty as well. "One of each..." he remembered softly, his voice thick. "They're perfect, Rhae." 

The babe closest to her breast began to squirm, and Rhaenys kissed her tiny brow; then she kissed her brother's. They smelled warm and sweet, like honeyed milk."Eddard and Elia," she whispered, and more tears ran down her wet cheeks. "I've waited so long for you both…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been a while since i smelled a baby.


	74. songs and names (of ice and fire)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You and your children are the future of House Targaryen. Born anew from ice and fire."

Rhaenys could have spent an eternity gazing upon the rosy faces of her twin children, but that certainly would not have been fair to Robb. When he asked, she gently passed the precious bundle to him and a new feeling suffused her from heart to bone, tender and calm. She watched as an utterly entranced Robb stroked Elia's cheek, speaking gently to her and Ned before pressing kisses to their brows. "They're beautiful, Rhaenys," Robb said softly, brimming with happiness when he looked up at her. Rhaenys shifted closer to him, stifling a wince as she realized how sore she was-- she may as well have ridden from Sunspear to the Wall-- and rested her chin on his shoulder to gaze upon the twins.

Rhaenys reached down to lightly brush her fingertips along the strands of Elia's hair. It was slightly thicker than Ned's-- a simple way to tell the two apart. Her fingers trailed onto the ivory blanket, over the carmine threads of the embroidered wolf and dragon, and then over Robb's hand. _This is what I almost lost_ , Rhaenys realized, and tears rolled down her face. Almost had been a tragedy all on its own. Had the laws of life and death remained what she knew them to be, then none of them should have been there. 

"I know," Robb murmured, as though he read the sad words from her tears. He pressed his lips to her temple. "It's alright now."

Elia began to squirm, and a thin wail escaped from her mouth. Beside her, Ned remained soundly asleep, oblivious to his restless sister. "Come here," Rhaenys cooed, gently easing the baby girl from the blanket. She held the whimpering baby to her chest, quick to realize what Elia wanted. 

"Should I get the wet nurse?" Robb asked.

"No," Rhaenys replied, settling back against the pillows. She pulled her bedgown down just enough for her daughter to latch onto her breast. She thankfully did not have to wonder if she had done it right or not; the babe's cries were quickly replaced with the quieter sound of her suckling. As Elia's tiny fingers brushed and curled against Rhaenys' bare skin, her eyelids fluttered open at last, revealing her father's eyes-- Tully blue, bright and warm as a summer's sky.

When Elia's mouth loosen from her nipple, Rhaenys rested her against her shoulder, patting her back gently until she heard a quiet burp. Elia squirmed a bit before nestling against her mother's shoulder. Rhaenys kissed her small head, inhaling her warm scent as she looked over to Robb and Ned-- the little boy had started to fuss, though he was not as loud as his sister. "Robb," Rhaenys murmured, and they carefully swapped twins. 

"Ned will be the quiet one," she predicted, peering down at her son as he suckled. 

"And Elia the not-so-quiet one?" Robb guessed. 

"I think a girl with both wolfsblood and dragonsblood would be anything but quiet." 

Robb smiled dotingly upon Elia. "I would not doubt that."

Moments after Ned had finished nursing, the door creaked open. Lady Stark stood at the entry, wringing her hands. "I…couldn't wait any longer," she said wistfully. Through the half-open door, Rhaenys also spotted Lady Brienne tarrying. 

"No, it's alright," Rhaenys said. "Come in. Both of you." Brienne seemed surprised, but she dutifully followed Lady Stark into the room. Shadows seemed to weigh her eyes down as though she hadn't slept. Rhaenys had to wonder if the woman had been outside the birthing room all through the night. Brienne stood close to the door, however, as Lady Stark came over to the bed, sitting close to Rhaenys. Immediately, Rhaenys placed her son into his grandmother's arms. "This is Ned," she told her gently, and Lady Stark's wan and scarred face softened at once. 

"And here is Elia," Robb smiled, nestling her close to Ned. Lady Stark nodded, cradling them close and carefully to her as tears pooled in her eyes. 

"Dearest little things," she whispered. "Look, Brienne, aren't they sweet?"

Brienne looked on awkwardly before inching closer to the bed. A proper sight of the newborn twins, however, quickly blunted her unease. "Very much so, my lady," she uttered. 

Rhaenys smiled, but every bit of her ached with exhaustion. Before long, her eyelids had begun to droop. "Sleep now, my love," Robb murmured, drawing the blanket closer around her. Through the slits of her half-closed eyes, Rhaenys kept a tender watch upon the children and their grandmother until she drifted off. 

When she woke, she was in her and Robb's usual bedchamber. 

Rhaenys blinked, her eyelids still heavy from sleep. She was very thankful that this chamber was not as stifling as the birthing room had been. Robb was curled against her back, his hand resting at her waist, still very much asleep. Her eyes then came to rest upon a wooden cradle that had been placed close to the bed. It was carved from a dark brown wood and carefully etched with wolves and dragons. The splendid work of Riverrun's carpenter, Theo. _I must thank him later_ , Rhaenys thought, as her babies slept upon soft grey furs and blankets that lined the cradle. Lulled by Robb's warmth and his quiet breathing, she strayed back into sleep.

_However, something quickly woke her. The chamber was dark, feebly illuminated by the dying hearth. A dark figure was knelt beside the cradle. Rhaenys thought it to be Robb, but realized at once that her husband was still asleep beside her. Startled, she jolted upright and threw back the blankets. But as her eyes grew used to the dim light, the figure became another familiar man. "What are you doing here?" she whispered, sitting at the edge of the mattress._

_"I wished to meet my grandchildren," said Prince Rhaegar, his iron voice much softer than she had ever heard it. His head was bowed over the cradle as he gazed upon the twins, his silver hair shrouding his face. Rhaenys breathed deeply, trying to stay her whetted heartbeat. She could not remember the last she had dreamed of her father. Perhaps at Winterfell, the night she found Sonaral. If she did dream of him after, then it seemed she was content to forget._

_"Your children are beautiful," Rhaegar murmured, looking proudly upon Rhaenys. His eyes were dark indigo, a darker blue than the twins'. "The blood of Old Valyria…it has always been red. Red as that of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. The Targaryens had haunted themselves to the last man to keep their bloodline pure. But for what? Silver and amethyst? You and your children are the future of House Targaryen. Born anew from ice and fire."_

_Rhaenys reached into the cradle to hitch the blanket closer around the babes. "I hoped they could've been born in a kinder time."_

_"What kinder time do you speak of?" Rhaegar asked. "The one I know of has yet to come."_

_"Is it a far way?"_

_"That is not for me to say."_

_Rhaenys scowled, but her father did not notice. He had returned to the peaceful sight of his grandchildren. "Eddard Stark was a good man, a good father to you," Rhaegar remarked, smoothing a crease in the ivory blanket. "It is fitting that this little prince shares his name. He shall be a good king." Then, something in his expression changed. "Elia," he sighed sadly, a different princess surely upon his mind. "Do you not worry for her?"_

_Suddenly, Rhaenys turned resentful. "Her father will protect her," she told him. "Robb would rather die than even think to abandon his children."_

_"I know." Rhaegar's iron tones became brittle, ringing with a sadness even he had never known in life. Still upon the floor, he shifted away from the cradle so that he was knelt before Rhaenys. He reached for her hand, noticing when it twitched as she thought to pull it from him. "It brings me joys to no end that I know." He rose tall, leaning down to kiss her brow. "But there is still so much that you do not know." It sounded like a warning._

_Rhaegar turned away from her, walking towards the door._

" _Wait…please."_

_He turned around. "Of course, my little dragon."_

_Rhaenys swallowed; her throat was burning. "Is… is Ned your promised prince?"_

_Rhaegar held her weary gaze. "They have long walked upon this world."_

Then he was gone. Rhaenys lifted her head from the pillow, her thoughts all in a cloud. Somewhere outside, a wolf was howling. "It's only Grey Wind," she heard Robb murmur, mistaking the eerie yet sweet sound for the cause of her bewilderment. Rhaenys turned onto her other side; Robb had sat up against the pillows, staring at the drawn curtains as though the winter's night beyond the frosted window panes were plain to his sight. 

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

"No…" Robb tilted his head slightly. "I think he means for a song. For the twins."

"A song for the twins?" Rhaenys echoed.

"You should have heard Sonaral's," he said wistfully. "I wish you did. I bet there is nothing like it in all the world."

A wolf's song and a dragon's song for her children-- Rhaenys smiled at the thought. She settled her head against Robb's pillows, rousing him to do the same. "To think we were once children together," said Rhaenys, running a finger down his cheek. "Now we've children of our own." 

\---

Seven days after they were born, Ned and Elia were dressed in satin ivory naming gowns. After the twins were tended to, Rhaenys shrugged off her bedgown and maids helped her into a velvet overdress of deep red, with silver and storm grey brocade skirts underneath. She was glad to finally leave the bedchamber after besting the exhaustion of birthing twins, and a fever that had her weary for four day. Once she was dressed, Rhaenys sent the maids out, and sat beside the cradle, gazing upon her precious children. 

It had been seven days, and no one had spoken a word to her about the days to come. Not even Robb. Perhaps no one wished to grieve a new mother with talks of war and politics. But the dreaded words would come forth on that day-- Rhaenys was more than certain. Once all had seen her face free of a fever's flush and her babes peacefully asleep in her arms, then the hour of the queen would resume. 

Despite her faith to her duty, Rhaenys couldn't help but wish for the hour to be delayed a bit longer. 

Caged by her thoughts, she was freed when the door creaked open. "I wanted to make sure that you were alright," Robb said as he quietly closed the door. 

"I'm alright," Rhaenys decided, espying the snowflakes dusted upon his black doublet. "Has the snow returned so quickly?" It was still close to impossible to see anything beyond the rimy window panes. She knew that the day's dawn saw a bit of respite from the raging snowstorm that began the day before Ned and Elia were born. 

"A light fall." Robb went over to the bed and sat next to her. "Mother's already in the sept, to make sure everything is perfect for the naming."

Rhaenys reached into the cradle to smooth a wrinkle in Elia's gown. "I'm sure it will be." When she drew her hand away, she placed it over Robb's cold one. It took a moment before she finally asked: "What happens now?"

The silence may as well have been castle bells, with her standing right beneath the bell tower.

"No plans have changed since Dragonstone," he said at long last. "Even if so, it all ends the same way. We need to march east before the snows come again."

"That's quite soon, then," Rhaenys remarked steadily. Too soon to watch him leave again. Just then, Elia began to whimper. A fuss rather than a hungry wail, since she had been fed not too long before. Rhaenys sprung to her feet to lift her from the cradle; as soon as she took Elia into her arms, the babe's cries ebbed away. "It's alright," she murmured to her, rocking her to and fro. "It's alright, my little princess." She kissed her tiny nose, catching sight of Robb; his eyes were bright as he gazed upon her and Elia. 

"I wish we had more time," he said quietly. 

Rhaenys pressed her lips together. "Don't make it sound like we've run out of it again." 

Robb bowed his head. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean too. This is meant to be a happy day." He rose from the bed, leaning over the cradle to take Ned. "And perhaps it is time we enjoyed it."

\---

Amidst the snow-mantled garden of the late Lady Minisa Tully, Riverrun's seven-sided sept rose from sandstone. Inside, the seven aspects of the new gods were painted upon the marble walls. The ceiling was vaulted and at its center, the seven pointed-star of the Faith was inlaid in leaded glass, each pane a color of the rainbow. When the sky allowed it, sunlight would pour and scatter rainbow light through the sept-- Rhaenys supposed it would be some time before such a lovely sight was seen again. 

Before the image of the Mother, Septon Karl carefully arranged seven crystal vials upon the alter while the sweet fragrance of burning incense wafted through the sept. As she and Robb walked towards the Mother, Rhaenys spotted Lord Connington, Lady Brienne, Podrick, Thoros of Myr, and Ser Barristan in the modest gathering. Closest to the alter was Lady Catelyn, accompanied by Lord Edmure and his wife and young son.

Roslin had surprised many at Riverrun, when she, her son Axel, and her youngest half-sister Shirei arrived at the castle a moon before. Her welcome had been a cold one. Knelt before Rhaenys and Robb and a hall filled with those who suffered and survived Walder Frey's doings, Roslin clutched her son and kept her sister close as she tearfully begged for forgiveness, admitting her part in the Red Wedding, rueing every moment of it, and mourning every day after. 

Somehow, Rhaenys found it in her heart to say: _I know what it's like to be blamed for a father's crimes_ , and urged the frightened young woman to stand before the hall as the Lady of Riverrun. Yet, even to that day, Robb wanted nothing to do with Roslin or Shirei. Not even Axel, who was his cousin. 

Septon Karl bowed his head, gesturing for Robb to bring the elder child forth. ""We ask the Seven Who Are One to bestow their blessings into these seven oils, and hallow each one for our use upon this day." He dipped a fingertip into the first of the vials and gently touched it to Ned's brow. Once all seven oils had been anointed, the septon raised a small crystal prism; a rainbow of light fell upon the babe. "In the light of the Seven," he declared. "I name Eddard of the Houses Targaryen and Stark, Crown Prince of Westeros." Septon Karl then repeated the rite upon Elia; "In the light of the Seven, I name Elia of the Houses Targaryen and Stark, Princess of Westeros."

When it was done, Rhaenys brushed kisses upon Ned and Elia's cheeks, careful not to disturb the oils that glistered at their brows. Lady Catelyn was the first to greet the newly named twins, with Edmure and Roslin close behind. Little Axel watched on, his brown eyes round and curious. "The gods shall bless them," Lady Catelyn promised to Rhaenys and Robb. "The new and the old." Others eventually came forward, and gifts were pledged to Ned and Elia-- promises of a castle for them to grow and play in, a fair kingdom to watch over, and a time of peace of prosperity. 

Outside, the castle bells rung, just as they did the morning Ned and Elia were born.

\---

In the great hall, tables were laden with riverland fare: trout baked in a crust of herbs and crushed almonds, roasted rabbit glistering with honey, venison pies chunky with carrots and mushrooms, buns with dried berries and pine nuts baked in them, and applecakes with sweet crumbles, all served with mulled wines, meads, and ciders. 

And just as Rhaenys expected, discussions of what was yet to come filled the hall. Robb, who had promised Rhaenys a joyous day, was quick to grow annoyed at his uncle. "My children have just been named and now you wish to discuss politics?" Rhaenys stared into her goblet; her first taste of wine after moons of abstinence surely wasn't as bitter as she thought it to be. She glanced up at Lady Catelyn and Roslin, who were both watching on wearily. 

Edmure sighed. "The son that the Lannisters have feared for so many years. You know what would happen when Cersei finds out."

"Of course we know!" Robb snapped, and Rhaenys thought of their little son and little daughter, who were both returned to their cradle and their peaceful rest. "And i'll die before I let it happen."

"Robb, now is not the time for this," Rhaenys finally uttered, before bringing the goblet to her lips for a second time. There was no way in the world, the heavens, and the hells that Cersei, Tywin, or any enemy of hers would even catch a glimpse of Ned and Elia. 

Somewhere in the vast hall, Tom of the Sevenstreams had donned his best green wool and plucked at his woodharp, singing high and sweet. Rhaenys had learned some time ago that Tom once ran afoul of a younger Edmure after stealing away a girl that the lord had fancied for a night (and then composed a song about a floppy fish). Despite all that, Edmure begrudgingly allowed the singer to remain at Riverrun with the rest of the Brotherhood without banners, as Tom had served as a spy to the brothers while in the company of Emmon Frey and Jaime Lannister. 

Tom began to amble across the great hall, crooning the words of a familiar Myrish love songs he went:

_I loved a maid as fair as summer,_  
_with sunlight in her hair._

_I loved a maid as red as autumn,_  
_with sunset in her hair._

_I loved a maid as white as winter,_  
_with moonglow in her hair._

By the time he reached the queen's table, Tom had nearly finished the final verse: 

_I loved a maid as sweet as spring,_  
_with flowers in her hair._

The singer offered Rhaenys his famed wide smile, and doffed his green hat. An Umber man then asked for a song that wouldn't have them all in a sober stupor. Tom whimsically bowed in the northernman's direction, and broke into a rousing song, Seven Swords for Seven Sons. Soon enough, a fiddle, a flute, reed pipes, and drums joined Tom's woodharp. Robb pushed his chair back to stand, taking Rhaenys' hand as he did. "Will you dance with me?" He asked. 

Rhaenys answered with a smile, and pulled him along to the vacant middle of the hall. The song waxed as more voices joined in, heavy from wine and merriment. "Remember when we learned to dance?" She asked him. "We kept being paired together as though we were already man and wife."

Robb grinned at the shared memory. "You were taller than I was. I hated that." He then lifted and spun her around, causing her to giggle. 

It had been so long since their last dance.

When the song ended, another one began-- one so otherworldly, there was no chance that it could have been woven from a man or woman's hands and mouth. Their steps lulled, Robb and Rhaenys stared to the frosted windows as every eye in the hall did. Rhaenys decided if stars could sing, such would have been their song. 

There really was nothing like Sonaral's song in all the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But I thought you hated the word nipple-" THE THESAURUS HAD FAILED ME 
> 
> There is plenty debate about what a naming is, and I personally think it's different from a name day. I (IMAO) think that a name day is a birthday while a naming is a christening where the child's name is publicly and formally revealed. That being said, I based the naming ceremony on christenings (which I never had/never attended, so google is my BFFL). I'm not sure how long westeroi parents wait to do the naming, but I chose seven days since 7 an auspicious number in the Faith (and so soon because the future is definitely not certain at this point).
> 
> ALSO, I have no idea when GRRM is going to reveal the "spring" part (if there even is one) of The Seasons of My Love. I'm guessing the same day he publishes The Winds of Winter-- never.


	75. planning for an end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Vengeance, war, it all ends with the Lannisters…"

When Robb awoke, he felt as though he had been awake for hours. He had dreamt he was Grey Wind again, weaving tirelessly between trees as the moonlight fought its way through heavy clouds. It had been some time since such dreams came to him. Perhaps because he no longer had need to share his direwolf's skin, teeth, and claws-- no more reason to be a beast; the man was quite enough. A man whose family was peacefully asleep close to him-- his wife nestled against him, their twin babes in their cradle. 

Robb glanced down at Rhaenys, wistful as he stroked her hair, the curls soft and black like a raven's wing. _I'd be a fool to leave her_. His gaze then drifted to Ned and Elia, both so small and barely a fortnight old. _Her and them_. His heart begged to stay at Riverrun, to let loyal men take his place as a battle for King's Landing-- and Westeros-- was waged at last. But honor demanded that he command and lead those loyal men-- as their king. Robb knew his father would have chosen honor, because his heart lay at the end of it. _But my heart is right here, within this castle, within this chamber…_

Speaking of his heart, she stirred, turning her head towards the cradle just as her eyes fluttered open-- an instinct Rhaenys had quickly taken to whenever she woke. "They're alright, Rhae," Robb murmured, reassuring her. 

"Mhm," Rhaenys replied sleepily, returning her head to his shoulder. Robb couldn't remember the last they had slept through a whole night. The twins were as ravenous as wolves and whenever one began to cry, the other would follow. Except for the time when she was stricken with fever, Rhaenys would not allow the wet nurse to touch them. Robb buried his nose in his wife's thick dark hair, wondering if the gods gave her twins as forgiveness for the two children taken before either drew a first breath-- forgiveness for all they had taken from her. Rhaenys nuzzled the crook of his neck, and he felt her smile upon his skin. "A year ago," she said softly. "I dreamt of the twins."

Robb furrowed his brow. She had spoken of the dream that led her deep within Winterfell's crypts and to her dragon's egg, but this was different-- a year ago they thought each other dead. "Did you really?"

"I did. We were at Winterfell, but just the same, they had my curls and your eyes, named for my mother and your father."

Rhaenys was the blood of the dragon, a bloodline whispered to have shared the power of second sight. That power seemed to have grown during their time apart. Robb supposed that the return of dragons to the world had all to do with it. "Daenys dreamed of dooms and you dream of children," he mused. 

"Could be one in the same, depending who you ask."

Robb chuckled, pressing a kiss to her brow. He found himself to pleading once again to the gods old and new-- _let it stay like this._

But it couldn't. Not while Cersei Lannister was high atop the Iron Throne.

\---

During a breakfast of hot bread, blackberry preserves, boiled eggs, and black sausage, a squire came into the great hall, clutching a thin scroll meant for Rhaenys. The ravens have only started to return, bearing both carefully and hastily written messages of what the war continued to bring to Westeros. Lord Selwyn Tarth of Evenfall Hall was declared Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Dorne was under attack by westerlands and stormland men. Lions had begun a slow decent upon the North. Euron Greyjoy's havoc continued to plague lands of the North and the Reach. The Tyrells remained seemingly quiet all throughout, despite the terrible fate of their liege-lord and his daughter. 

This scroll however was sealed with a red lion. "The Lannisters, at long last," Lord Edmure muttered as Rhaenys broke the wax seal, her eyes flying across the parchment as she read:

"Cersei of the House Lannister, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, and Light of the West summons Rhaenys Targaryen to King's Landing to bend the knee to her rightful queen, and see justice for the murder of Princess Myrcella Baratheon. Should she refuse, she will suffer the fate of traitors." 

Rhaenys stared upon the summons in disgust. "What makes Cersei think I would ever bend the knee to her?!" She spat. "She knows I will refuse!" 

"A final warning," Lord Connington said darkly. "Her way of reminding us that she knows where you are. Cersei has no intentions of mercy. She only signed a declaration of our destruction."

The parchment fell from Rhaenys' fingers, and Robb picked it up, to silently read the threat for himself. "The snows have stopped," Lord Edmure spoke again. "We could be seeing Lannister men from King's Landing and the westerlands sooner than we think."

"Call the banners, Edmure," Lady Catelyn said quietly. "As soon as soon. Make sure no Lannister touches my grandchildren."

"Of course, sister."

Rhaenys glanced to Robb, and his face was pale. "Rhaenys," he said. "We have to send a raven to Dragonstone, to let Jon start moving the armies and fleets towards King's Landing." He looked to the rest of their morning's company. "...It's time."

Rhaenys closed her eyes in brief respite, the reality of it all washing over her--- she could not let it to drown her. She had watched Robb's expression as he read Cersei's last warning, and she knew he made his choice. She folded her hands together upon her lap, fingernails digging into skin. "Rally your bannermen, Lord Edmure," she commanded. "And keep watch for a raven from Highgarden." It hadn't been long since Rhaenys sent a letter to Willas Tyrell asking for his aid, hoping the new Lord of Highgarden was awaiting a perfect chance to avenge his father and sister-- a reply would still take some time, if any ever came.

"My son, do you mean to lead them?" Lady Catelyn uttered, fearful as a ghost returned to her scarred face-- a mother, a widow, a wraith molded by the Lannisters and Freys. "You need not…you have loyal men all around you. Please…stay at Riverrun…"

"Mother, I must go," Robb said gently, crumpling the summons as he did. "I have a duty to my wife and queen."

Rhaenys bit the inside of her cheek, wishing she could repeat her good-mother's pleas; but that would do no good to anyone, especially to herself. Robb rose from his seat, walking towards the hearth where he then tossed Cersei's summons into the fire. "The man and woman who my children were named for have yet to be avenged," he said, as the parchment curled and burned. "It was Cersei's lies that beheaded Father, and Tywin's treachery that murdered Princess Elia. Vengeance, war, it all ends with the Lannisters, and I will see to that end."

Rhaenys found herself watching the hearth as the fire consumed parchment. The roaring flames were candlelights compared to those of Sonaral, whose fire would have consumed more than just Cersei's ink wrought words. _I should just as well see to the end_ , she thought. _But to leave my babes….what sort of mother would I be?_ Yet, it did not make Robb any less of a father-- why would it make her less of a mother?

\---

Before the courtyard and upon sandstone stairs where they had dusted the blanket of snow away, Rhaenys and Roslin watched as an exasperated Brienne of Tarth knocked another squire to the ground. Not too far away, Shirei Frey was carefully raising a castle from the deep snows, her concentration hardly broken even as the squire's sputtering slitted the air. It hadn't taken long for the boys to lull their sneering and whispers after the woman had them take turns sparring with her.

As Brienne shared stern words with red-faced greenboys, Rhaenys peered down upon her babies, both so small and sweet. Elia was asleep, her cheek pressed against her brother's. Ned's eyes were half-lidded as he drew closer to sleep himself. They were swaddled with furs and blankets, their heads crowned with woolen caps. The last of the snowstorms had left Riverrun to a pure world of whites and greys, but Rhaenys held no worry for her winter born twins-- they were half Stark and half wolf, after all. 

A sudden and soft squeal caused her to lift her head; little Axel Tully squirmed about in his mother's arms, trying to reach for the younger babies. "It's strange to think they won't stay little forever," Rhaenys remarked, smiling at the little boy even after he turned away shyly. 

"I wish they could," Roslin Tully sighed. "It would make it easier to protect them." With a bittersweet smile, she ran her fingers through her son's auburn hair. "Before I know it, he will be wearing mail and whetting steel." 

Rhaenys caressed Ned's cheek. "It's both frightening and comforting," she remarked. "It would mean that we didn't fail them." Though Rhaenys wished she could hold her children safe and close to her breast forever, to know that they would both grow to be tall and brave and kind meant more to her than anyone could have known. 

Still, Cersei seemed to loom like a heavy shadow, one that threaten to steal and kill the light-- rather wry, for a woman calling herself the Light of the West. "I never liked waiting," Rhaenys said suddenly. "To think I will have to wait for a raven from King's Landing, bearing either joy or heartbreak…"

"Why must you wait?" Roslin asked, perhaps too boldly for her liking, as she quickly turned away from Rhaenys to stare upon the sparring squires. Had Rhaenys not been cradling her sleeping babes, she would have taken Roslin's hand while she urged her to speak freely. 

"I don't want to wait, my lady," Rhaenys said quietly. "But i've still yet to learn how to be both queen and mother." 

"You do what you must, Your Grace," Roslin replied, as Axel nestled against her shoulder. "For your children." 

Before returning to the warm castle with Roslin, Rhaenys thought to share a word with Brienne, to find out how the training lessons were going; from afar, it seemed like the young squires were growing quite accustomed to the snow-mantled grounds. "Even Podrick could get the better of them all," Brienne of Tarth remarked, but she was nevertheless very determined to shape the young boys into a guard that any lord would be proud to have. 

She also had an interesting proposal for her queen: "Perhaps you may consider some lessons of your own, Your Grace. Swordplay, that is."

"Me?" Rhaenys asked, surprised and amused. A bow was all she ever desired to wield, and she had only ever aimed at game in the Wolfswood. "What ever for?"

"I wish to help you to secure every possible chance to defend what is rightfully yours," Brienne replied. "Your kingdom, your children, your life."

Rhaenys couldn't help but wonder how much grief and heartbreak many women then and gone could have eluded, had they been allowed to bear steel. "I'd be greener than any summer-born boy you ever came across," she remarked. 

Even Brienne had to smile. "Forgive me, my queen, but I find it hard to believe that the woman who killed the Mountain thinks herself greener than this lot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO THERE. I left the country for 10 days for a vacation and I had hoped to add a new chapter before i did, but I wasn't happy with it. So I waited until I got back to tweak it a bit more. Sorry if its a bit short, but i've been exhausted since I got back. I'm also very behind on Game of Thrones, so no spoilers pls. 
> 
> Short and sweet chapter, but hopefully back to business; we should be getting to some good stuff soon :3


	76. acts of war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Whatever the gods had demanded of them, what all that life had done to them, Rhaenys knew they were meant to be happy."

In a large hall in Riverrun, Brienne presented Rhaenys with a wooden sword. Smaller than the usual practice swords, the hilt was carved for a woman's hand and its blade was a slender thing; it felt strange in Rhaenys' hand. "Keep a light but firm grip, Your Grace," said Brienne, as Rhaenys grasped the hilt with both of her hands. "Remember, the strength comes from you, not the blade. Don't hold all that strength at the hilt." Rhaenys nodded, attentive as any novice, making sure her stance was proper and that her elbows were bent. "Good," Brienne remarked. "Now, strike me."

As soon as she said that, Rhaenys realized just how tall Brienne of Tarth was. Undaunted, she lifted the wooden blade and swung it towards Brienne's arm until it was blocked easily. "Again," Brienne said, using her wooden blade to shove away Rhaenys'. "Until you grow familiar with the force you're wielding." Again and again. Blocked and blocked. But Rhaenys was hardly discouraged. She grew more used to the weight of the wood in her hand, more mindful of her steps, more watchful for chances to strike her larger and skilled opponent. "You've a lighter step than I, my queen," said Brienne. "Use that to your advantage." Finally, she swung at Rhaenys, who nimbly but narrowly evaded the blade, fumbling as she did. 

Rhaenys recovered quickly from her misstep. As Brienne swung again, Rhaenys sidestepped her blow and thought to charge-- but Brienne quickly knocked the sword from her hand, posing her blade over Rhaenys' shoulder. "Take care when you charge, Your Grace," Brienne warned. "Else you'll impale yourself on your foe's blade." Podrick Payne retrieved the practice sword from the floor, handing it hilt first to Rhaenys; breathless, she thanked him, throwing her braid behind her shoulder. "Let's rest," Brienne suggested. 

Rhaenys nodded, her arms and legs aching. She wiped the sweat from her brow as they walked over to a table where Podrick was pouring them out goblets of chilled water. "I'm no stranger to fighting," she remarked. "But I am glad you convinced me to take up arms, my lady."

"I'm glad your doubts have become a thing of yesterday," Brienne replied, resting her sword upon the table. Rhaenys did the same before taking a goblet. It felt as cool as snowmelt, soothing her sore palm.

"This makes me wish House Targaryen still boasted their ancestral blades," Rhaenys mused.

"Blackfyre and Dark Sister," Brienne recalled. ""What ever became of the swords, Your Grace?"

"Well, Blackfyre went with Aegor Rivers to exile in the Free Cities, and Dark Sister disappeared after Aegor's half-brother Brynden took the black. So no one really knows."

"A shame," Brienne remarked. "From what I heard about it, Dark Sister would have suited your hand quite well."

"Only if I could have wielded it properly." Rhaenys took the hilt of her wooden sword. "Shall we go again, my lady?"

"As you wish, my queen."

"Don't hold back," Rhaenys beseeched as they returned to their sparing place. "Pretend i'm one of those squires you kept knocking to the snow."

"You are still my queen and I your swornsword," said Brienne, raising her sword. "I must practice caution."

"Don't worry. I won't banish you." Rhaenys lunged forward, keeping her steps light as she did. She thrusted the sword at Brienne, who deftly knocked the blow away; but as she did, Rhaenys feinted another high swing, using the impetus to twist around and strike the back of Brienne's knee, causing the woman to buckle-- in another swift moment, she held the edge of the wooden blade to her neck. "I yield," Brienne panted, though she was smiling. 

Rhaenys smiled as well, a bright picture of her younger good-sister's brighter grin clear in her mind. Arya would have never forgive her if she had refused swordfighting lessons.

\---

After the first lesson, and after a quick bath, Rhaenys stole a moment with her children. She was meant to be else where, in the war room-- it was unfair that a mother had to indulge in stolen time. As the nursemaid slipped out from the nursery, Rhaenys cradled Ned and Elia close to her chest, kissing their tiny brows. She stood by the window, allowing the day's light to wash over the twins' faces, their azure eyes brilliant like a summer sky's reign. She began to hum a lullaby-- a Dornish one. One she remembered Ellaria Sand singing to Obella, a long time ago. The words were lost upon her, but the melody was memorably sweet. 

Just before the song ended, the door creaked open behind her. Rhaenys peered over her shoulder. "Hello, my lady," she greeted, as Lady Catelyn lingered at the door way.

"I was wondering where you had gone off to," she said, closing the door quietly before joining her at the window. "Robb guessed you've been here all along." She glanced down at the twins, smiling as she stroked the thin strands of Elia's black hair. Another part of Catelyn Stark had come back since the birth of her grandchildren. Her words were better strung together and a bit of color returned to her pale face. 

"I don't like leaving them for so long," said Rhaenys.

"I understand, my dear." 

Elia yawned, her tiny fist skimming against her brother's face. Ned started to whimper, writhing in their shared blanket. Rhaenys gently took Elia's hand, her thumb tracing soft circles into it to soothe her. "Elia," she sang. "Don't upset your brother." 

"She reminds me of Arya," Lady Catelyn said wistfully. "A restless babe she was...never cried…she howled." 

"This one howls oft enough to rouse a pack," Rhaenys said proudly, kissing her daughter's hand. Elia began to settle to sleep more peacefully. 

"You've given Robb such a precious family." Lady Catelyn's eyes trailed away from the babes, instead watching what winter made of the riverlands-- yearning for what she had lost. "The grief I shared a heart with when Ned left to fight for Robert…I never wanted that grief for you." She reached out to touch the window pane, dragging a line across the frosted glass. "It grieved me to no end that Ned might have never known his son, that Robb could have never known his father...and you were blessed with twins…"

Through the line Catelyn had drawn, Rhaenys espied the beauty of the winter. "I don't want Robb to go," she lamented, wounded at the thought of another life without him. A terrible and very possible future where he would never know his children, and his children would never know him. "I know if I beg it of him, he would stay…but even that seems...wrong…"

"Robb would never idle while men risked their lives on his behalf," Lady Catelyn sighed, concurring to what they both knew of Robb. "He is an echo of Ned."

 _The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,_ Rhaenys remembered. Moments after his decision to execute Rickard Karstark, Robb had told her, as his father had told him. He would tell the very same to their son someday. "I never got to know the men of my family's name," she uttered. "We all knew that Aerys was a madman. From what i've been told, my uncle Viserys was his father's son. And Rhaegar…" The pained sound of a strangled laugh caught in her throat. "The noble dragon prince…left my mother for a girl and doomed them both, along with his house and country." Rhaenys chased away the contempt with the sleeping faces of her son and daughter. Her little dragons. Her little wolves. "I'm glad my love is his father's son."

She saw the tears upon her good-mother's cheeks, but there was a joy upon her face. Lady Catelyn turned away from the window and pressed a kiss to Rhaenys' brow. "I do believe you were fated to be with us, Rhaenys. Lord Cregan's doing, when he made pact with your ancestors…" She smiled lovingly. "A promised princess."

Something curiously cold riddled down Rhaenys' spine. "I should go now," she murmured, passing the twins to their grandmother. "I was meant to be somewhere else."

"I'll watch them," Lady Catelyn promised, and Rhaenys left the nursery with a flurry of new thoughts. The pact made between House Targaryen and House Stark had been called the Pact of Ice and Fire. Ice and Fire. A princess that was promised. _Coincidence._

Robb was already inside the war room, his hands rested at the table's edge while he examined the maps, battleplans, and wooden markers strewn all across. "A copper piece for your thoughts?" Rhaenys asked, breaking his concentration as he looked over his shoulder. 

An arch smile brought light to his weary face. "I'd take a kiss," Robb replied.

And she gave, her smile brushing against his until it deepened into something familiar, soft, and gentle. When Rhaenys nudged his nose with hers, drawing away from his mouth, Robb's hand rested on her hip, keeping her close to him. Neither of them could admit that they had only days left together, before Robb left to lead his men back east. "How was your first lesson?" Robb asked, taking one of her curls between his fingers. 

"Good," Rhaenys replied. "Better than I thought." As she turned her head to look upon the messy table, she felt the curl slip from his fingers. Atop a pile of scattered maps was a carefully drawn one of King's Landing. Rhaenys also spotted his half-empty wine cup and reached for it. "Any word from the Tyrells?" She asked before sipping tart riverland wine.

"None," Robb replied. "We'll have to do without the roses for this one."

"Very well," Rhaenys said, though the prospect did not settle well with her at all. Setting the cup aside, she sighed, skimming her fingertips across the plat of King's Landing. "The Reach boasts the largest armies in Westeros, by land and sea," she said. "Enough to keep the peace in the south, at the very least." 

As she fretted, Robb wrapped his arms around her waist. "We could send an envoy to Highgarden."

"I've already personally written to Willas. He has all he needs to make a decision."

"The Tyrells will come to your side…with a choice between you and Cersei, it seems simple enough."

It should have seemed simple enough. Yet, there was always something waiting in the shadows, or even the plain light of day, to complicate it all. "Two queens vying for the same throne," said Rhaenys. "A third waiting across the sea…"

"Who in Westeros would bend the knee to Daenerys?" Robb asked. "If she ever reaches Westeroi soil, her claim is done with."

Rhaenys recalled Dany's larger share of the Iron Fleet. Her army of the loyal and disciplined Unsullied. Her three larger and older dragons. "Not without a fight."

"You think she'll wage war against her own blood?"

"She wouldn't be the first Targaryen to do that, but the only war my aunt shall ever get from me is one of words--" 

The chamber's doors suddenly flew open with a urgency, and Ser Barristan entered with Edmure. Behind them were two guardsmen, both dragging a disheveled and snow-crusted man as they went. "Your pardons, my queen and king," one of the guardsmen said. "We've captured a Lannister scout." 

The scout kept his eyes upon the floor, though they flitted up when Rhaenys and Robb drew nearer. He was a sorry sight; his face and ears were red from the chill and his scuffle, and melted snow speckled his brow like cold sweat. "Where did you find him?" Robb asked, the sight of the Lannister man already picking at his anger.

"A brush near the castle," the guard clarified. "Sentries found his dead horse by the Red Fork. They're scouring the vicinity for more Lannister men, but he claims he's the only one."

"Did you come from King's Landing?" Rhaenys asked the scout. The man's features remained seamless. He said nothing, betrayed nothing, as his grey eyes bored into the ground.

"Answer her," Robb demanded. "Lest you rather have a conversation with a direwolf."

The scout's ruddy face blanched. "Oxcross," he relented. 

Rhaenys furrowed her brow, but she knew it wasn't worth a surprise. Oxcross was nearly half the distance of a journey from King's Landing to Riverrun-- and anyone from Oxcross would surely know all about Grey Wind. "Who sent you?" She pressed.

"Ser Kevan Lannister."

"To do just what, exactly?" 

"I'm just a s-spy…my lady," the scout sputtered, his brave face betrayed and his nerves getting the better of him. 

"Just a spy?" Rhaenys echoed. "Well, thieves tends to lose their hands. Murderers lose their lives." She turned to Barristan Selmy. "Ser Barristan, what is the just punishment for a spy?"

"I've known spies to have their tongues cut, Your Grace," said the knight, and the scout shuddered. "Their eyes gorged from their skulls, their ears sliced from their heads--"

"I only did what I been told!" The scout cried out. "I spurred my horse all this way 'till it died!" 

"All this way for nothing," Rhaenys declared. "I'm sure you'll find company in Lord Tully's dungeons. We've plenty of your friends down there." 

Before the guards took the Lannister scout away, Robb prowled closer to him. "Since you've come all this way," he said, his voice low as a growl. "I may as well tell you what your liege has coming for him. Northerners. Dornishmen. Rivermen. Valemen. Stormborn. Ironborn. Dragonmen of the Narrow Sea. Essosi. All marching to King's Landing to find out if Lord Tywin really does shit gold."

\---

Inside the sandstone walls of Riverrun, everything was quiet and peaceful. A bit too peaceful, considering the noise and confusion that quickly came to the castleyard before the first light. Rhaenys sat at the edge of an armchair, watching the wispy streaks of orange and pink that grazed the grey morning beyond the nursery windows. Robb had gone downstairs to attend to something, promising to be quick about it. Growing anxious, Rhaenys eased herself from the chair and knelt beside the cradle. She hitched the blanket closer around the sleeping twins. 

Rhaenys was as much a mother of wolves as she was a mother of dragons. She had to be braver than most, for them. 

When Robb returned to the nursery, a dark thought whispered that it could have been for a last time. Rhaenys rose from the floor, nearly treading on her gown's hem as she ran to him. She threw her arms tight around his neck. It took every part of her to not say _don't go_. Robb gripped her waist with one arm, as he was holding something in his other. "I have something for you," he murmured. When they broke apart, he held it out for her to take. 

The scabbard was supple black leather, the locket and tip bronze and intricately engraved with scrollwork. Rhaenys' fingers grazed the pommel-- bronze dragon claws clutching a rose of lapis lazuli. Then her grip came to the black leather wrapped hilt, a perfect fit for her hand, and she drew the sword forth, newly forged steel ringing sweetly. The bronze crossguard was narrow; rosevines curled and twined together to form a swept hilt that would help protect her hand. The steel itself was slender and well balanced. 

"A bit Northern, a bit Dornish, a bit Targaryen," said Robb. "All you."

The bronze of the dragon claws caught the light of the hearth, and it shown like a flickering flame. "It's beautiful," Rhaenys uttered, in a hushed breath. 

"All you," Robb repeated, smiling. "What will you name it?"

Rhaenys smiled as well, looking at her blade from pommel to tip. "I don't know…" As Arya once told her, all the best swords had names. Like Ice, Needle, and Oathkeeper. "I suppose i'll tell you when I see you again." She slid the blade back into the sheath and set it aside. As she did, Robb went over to the cradle, his back to her.

"Look at you both," he murmured to Ned and Elia as he gently scooped them up. Rhaenys stood close, watching the three of them; the dark thoughts returned, another whisper of what could have been the last time. "Soon you'll both outgrow this cradle," Robb said softly. "You'll grow into your legs, and have your mother chase you up and down the halls…you'll play with each other, tease each other… argue and quarrel as I did with my brothers and sisters…" His breath caught in his throat. It sounded like a sob. Rhaenys ran to them-- her family-- and wrapped her arms around Robb's waist from behind and pressed her cheek to his back. "Ned and Elia…I love you both with all my heart." Robb kissed their brows, and Rhaenys loosened his grip on him so he could gently place their children back into the cradle. 

"Don't go," she yielded, to her heart and tears. 

Robb turned around, his own eyes bright with tears. "I go to win your kingdom back," he murmured, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "It's the only way I can protect you and the twins." Then, he kissed her, his hand at her waist and the other in her hair. He was gentle as always, but there was an urgency that Rhaenys returned in full. Dozens of heartbeats later, Robb gently eased away to look upon her. "Rhaenys," he said, in a voice that broke her heart. "Should the battle be lost... if I don't come back--"

"Don't say that."

"As… as soon as you can, go back to Winterfell--"

"Robb. Please, don't..." 

He lifted a hand to cradle her face. "You and the twins will be safer there--"

"Robb!" Whatever the gods had demanded of them, what all that life had done to them, Rhaenys knew they were meant to be happy. She curled her fingers around his wrist. "Robb Stark, I love you forever," she said softly. "You will come back to me. As your queen, I ask it of you. As your wife, I demand it."

Before she knew it, Rhaenys was staring at an army of men, their banners already hoisted and rippling in a cold morning wind. Beside her, Lady Catelyn was overwhelmed by quiet sobs; Edmure held her, while Roslin spoke softly to her. At Rhaenys' other side, were two members of her Queensguard-- her Lord Commander, Ser Barristan, and her loyal knight, Brienne of Tarth. 

Robb stood with his men, flanked by Lord Connington and Grey Wind. Rhaenys met eyes with him for courage before she spoke:

"It grieves me that I knowingly send you all into the lion's den, to fight for a better tomorrow. But know, that under my reign, we will know peace and prosperity, greater than our seven kingdoms have ever known. I may rule in my father's name, but I am more than a Targaryen queen. I am a Westeroi queen, the blood of the country we all call home. Cersei Lannister may have blighted and bled Westeros, but this land still has its heart, and it beats within every one of us! By your will, she shall soon learn that her tyranny has no place in our country!"

Even after the last of the men left Riverrun's gates, their fervent roaring still rang through Rhaenys' ears. Yet, it was hardly not enough to drown out Robb's last words to her. 

_I love you, Rhaenys Targaryen. Forever._

\---

Ned. Elia. Sonaral. The nameless sword. Without them, Rhaenys would have gone mad from fear. She trained more often. Quick to outgrow the wooden blade in favor of the live steel Robb had gifted her. Though her own blade was smaller compared to those of longswords, Rhaenys learned ways to overcome such, wedding what Brienne taught her to what Arya had shown her. 

And ever so often, Sonaral would fly down from her cavern in the Tumblestone mountains. She would land at the fore of Riverrun--the closest she would come to the castle-- and Rhaenys would go out to greet her, with Ned and Elia bundled in her arms. The dragon's great purr would seemingly drown out all else as she settled against the snowy ground, curving her body protectively around Rhaenys and her children. "You've both no short of those who will protect you," she murmured to the twins. Ned's and Elia's tiny blue gazes were fixed upon the even larger blue gaze that kept a close watch upon them. "Those big and small…gods know how grateful I am for every one of them." 

Then one evening, after Rhaenys nursed the twins, the maester came to the nursery, a letter in hand. She thanked him, and settled upon the window sill. The seal was dawn orange, the sun-and-spear of House Martell. Even before Rhaenys broke the wax, she knew who written her; she'd know the hand anywhere. 

_Dearest Rhaenys_

_I came across a coffer that belonged to your mother. Half-filled with old letters and trinkets. I did not think much of it, until I realized the coffer had a false bottom._

_Only one letter, which I have included along with mine._

_Arianne_

Rhaenys furrowed her brow. _So short?_ She wondered, taking the second letter that rested beneath her cousin's-- the parchment was frayed and creased in places, the ink faded by time. 

_Princess Elia_

_I write to you in confidence, keeping trust in my only companion in the hope that this letter reaches you as soon as soon. Please Princess, know that I never wanted part in any of this. I pray that someday, you might find it in your heart to forgive me. Yet, forgiveness strays further and further by the hour._

_Princess, I am with child, the seed of your prince and husband. I feel this little one growing stronger in my belly with each passing sun. Not even born and I fear for it night and day. Should my betrothed know, he would not think twice about killing it. And Rhaegar. He oft speaks of prophecies and songs, none of which I understand. But he thinks have his marriage to you annulled, to wed me in the hopes that I bear him a son. I begged Rhaegar to refuse this madness, to put things right before it is too late. He insists for your sake, for that of Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon, that it is the only way._

_Is it the only way if it is madness? I beg for peace for our children, in the hope that they will play together one day._

_Lyanna Stark_

Rhaenys slumped against the window sill, numb. _Lyanna had been with child._ The letter slipped from her hands. _Rhaegar's child._ She curled her fingers into her palm. They felt stiff, and were tingling as though from a frost's bite. Rhaenys brought one of her hands to her mouth, guessing to warm it with her breath; but instead, it only muffled the sounds of her sobs.

She spent years trying to not hate her father. Not truly, at the very least. There were always the flickers of silver memories, his saving grace. Pale hands that plucked at harp strings, and took her upon his knee or shoulders. Iron tones and argent laughter. Delicate kisses pressed to her cheek. Pleasant promises to love her always…

But Rhaegar really did abandon her. Her, Elia, and Aegon. He abandoned all three of them, and was ready it make it very official. 

A wail rang from the cradle. Rhaenys stumbled to her feet, rushing to her babies."It's alright," she murmured, hiccuping from a dying sob. "It's alright…" She gathered them in their blanket-- the ivory one, with the carmine dragon and wolf-- and cradled them close. _The child,_ she had to wonder. What became of it? Had it lived pass the cradle? A brother or a sister? Were they somewhere out there in the wide world?

Rhaenys eased herself onto the armchair, swallowing an angry scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying not to mention any GOT S7 spoilers…but fuck Rhaegar.
> 
> I was looking for references for Rhaenys' sword, and I came across this:
> 
> http://www.omegaartworks.com/images/omega/115-wild-rose-sword-swords-1-1-1.jpg  
> http://www.omegaartworks.com/images/omega/115-wild-rose-sword-swords-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1.jpg
> 
> I need it in my life. Also fun fact: I fenced a bit in college.


	77. fyreheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Darker days have yet to come, and we can only endure them if we keep peace amongst one another, and help each other."

All at Riverrun blamed the queen's dark mood upon the obvious. War. The Lannisters. Cersei. King's Landing. Uncertainly of the king's return. All was true, but it was an old letter pressed between the pages of a book, which was then hidden at the bottom of an ironwood truck, that tied it all together. Rhaenys could not even pen any kind of response to Arianne; every time she tried, the quill lingered until the parchment was covered in spots of ink, rather than words. What could she write? What could anyone write, should they learn that their father sired a secret child? 

As if Rhaenys did not take enough heartache to her bed every night. 

And perhaps it had begun to show-- one day, after a council in the great hall, Lady Catelyn took her aside. "Go get some rest, Rhaenys," she urged, laying a gentle hand upon her shoulder. 

"I can't just rest when there is a war to be dealt with!" Rhaenys said indigently, and immediately regretted her tone.

"Robb has taken the war to King's Landing," Lady Catelyn said patiently. "There is naught else we can do here, but wait." 

Rhaenys did not think herself so exhausted until she allowed her good-mother to shepherd her to the solar. Everything spun, especially the ache in her head that rode circles around her skull. Once Rhaenys was in bed, Lady Catelyn left the chamber with the promise of a cup of tea; during that time, Rhaenys wondered if she should tell her about Lyanna's letter. 

But when Lady Catelyn returned with the steaming cup, Rhaenys decided to keep the burden to herself. "You must care for yourself," Lady Catelyn said, after Rhaenys carefully took the cup from her. "You have your children to think about."

"I know," Rhaenys murmured. "There's just so much happening at once."

"We will endure."

Rhaenys sipped the tea. It was warm and pleasant, spiced with cinnamon and sweetened with honey. Eventually, it lulled her into a much needed sleep.

_The river was frozen all the way through. Quite a feat, since it was considered one of the largest and mightiest in Westeros. Rhaenys walked closer to its shores; she had espied a ruby, bounded to the ice, and glistening like a drop of blood. She bit her lip-- she knew where she was, and she did not want to be there. When she turned her back to the Trident, he was waiting._

_He was clad in night-black plate armor, with golden ring mail underneath. The Targaryens' three-heading dragon was inlaid in rubies upon the breastplate, but many of the gems where missing-- especially where there was a sickening dent over his chest._

_"Leave me alone!" Rhaenys spat. "I don't want to see you again, not ever!"_

_"Rhaenys." His voice was strained, like the river's rush trapped beneath the ice._

_But nothing about Rhaenys was strained or frozen. Her heart was on fire, burning and spitting dark embers. "How many of your insults did Elia have to bear?!" She screeched. "My mother loved you with all her heart! She suffered through Aerys' scorn, nearly died bringing me and Aegon forth!" She prowled closer to him, desperate to hurt him as he did to her. "And YOU! You humiliated her! You deceived her! You abandoned her!"_

_Rhaegar bowed his head, silver hair shrouding his face. "I never meant to hurt Elia."_

_Rhaenys could not decide which was more ridiculous-- the fact he would say such a thing or the thought that she would believe him. "You should have thought of that before you carried off Lyanna!"_

_At long last, there was the gleam of tears in her father's indigo eyes, but not for the reason she had wanted. "She loved me," said Rhaegar-- he sounded like a boy._

_"Is that what you think?!" Rhaenys snarled. "Lyanna wrote to my mother because she was scared. She was scared of you! You and your prophecies and promised princes…_

_"She loved me," he repeated._

_"You used her! All you cared about was your child of ice and fire!" It made sense now. Ice and Fire. Stark and Targaryen. A madness that truly believed that a babe born from the union would somehow save them all from an unexplainable doom._

_"Rhaenys," but the iron tones had long shattered. "My little dragon, the song was meant for all three of you--"_

_"You and your songs can go to hell! I will retake the Iron Throne because of my own resolve, not for starry words!"_

_As Rhaegar came closer to her, the dent in his armor became a gaping hole where the remains of his heart crept out-- the crimson flesh of it was beyond ruin, ruptured from the force of Robert Baratheon's war hammer. "You have a little brother," he rasped. "The dragon has three heads."_

Before Rhaenys could demand his name, someone was calling hers. 

"Rhaenys," Lady Catelyn urged, gentle shaking her awake. "Rhaenys, wake up."

"What is it?" Rhaenys murmured, confused while her dream's anger ebbed away. She pushed herself onto an elbow. Her good-mother's eyes were red, but she could not have been more happy.

"Someone is here to see you…"

Rhaenys' eyes then flitted to the open door, to the girl stood there. She was dressed in trousers and boiled leathers, brown and worn, a grey cloak around her shoulders. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders now, framing her long face, and tied back in a manner that resembled her father's. Rhaenys stared at her. Her agape mouth then curved into a smile. 

Arya grinned as well, and hurled herself across the room, leaping onto the bed and wrapping her skinny arms around Rhaenys' neck. It was some time before either of them could have spoken. Only when the sharp sound of babies' cries drifted along the hall outside, did the two break apart. 

"My children," Rhaenys said, grinning when Arya's jaw fell open.

\---

The nursery was glowing with warmth and light from the hearth. A kinder fire than the one Rhaegar had woken in Rhaenys' dream, and a thousand times more welcomed. Arya peered into the cradle, watching the twins as they watched her-- wide eyes like the full moon, one pair grey, the other two blue. "Eddard and Elia," Rhaenys said. "Though, we call him Ned." 

Arya looked sad for a passing moment, but a fond smile quickly came to her face. "They're so small," she whispered. Her hand stretched tentatively into the cradle, her fingers curling back as she hesitated.

"They won't bite," Rhaenys smiled, reaching to pluck her son from the furs. Arya began to protest, fretting about dropping him, but soon enough, her nephew was in her arms and the doubt had melted away. She touched her finger to his tiny palm, and tiny fingers closed around it. As Rhaenys took Elia from the cradle, Arya wandered over to the windows; in the distance, the Tumblestone's mountains rose, jagged and black against the darkening sky.

"I heard about the dragon," she remarked. "I think I saw it too…it was flying west."

"Sonaral," Rhaenys replied. "She roosts in the Tumblestone mountains."

"Does she ever come down to the castle?" 

"Often. To check upon the twins."

Arya smiled, at the very thought no doubt, of a mighty dragon emerging from its den to make sure two little human babes were well. She turned away from the mountains, rocking Ned gently. "How did you get back to Riverrun?" She asked.

"It's a long story," Rhaenys said evenly. "Not very pleasant either… but i'm sure yours is too."

"It is. Maybe i'll tell you, someday." Arya ambled back to Rhaenys, to look upon her niece properly. "They're both so sweet," she said. "It must have hurt Robb to leave them." Unable to speak, Rhaenys nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. "If Robb cheated death once, he'll do it a second time for the three of you," Arya remarked adamantly. "Our stories aren't over yet."

"No," Rhaenys agreed. "They're not." 

Elia started to squirm, cooing as her tiny fist fluttered towards her mother's face. Rhaenys beamed, murmuring a soft word in Valyrian. 

"Is it true that you killed Roose Bolton?" Arya suddenly asked.

Rhaenys glanced up from her daughter. "Yes."

Arya smiled, triumphant."He was on my list, but i'm glad it was you." 

"Your list?" Rhaenys echoed.

"Of people i'm going to kill."

It was a few heartbeats of silence until Rhaenys realized her good-sister had not spoken a jest. "...A long list, I would imagine," she remarked, not sure what else to say.

"I've crossed off names since I last saw you." 

Later that evening, they took supper in Lady Catelyn's solar, just the three of them. Bowls of rabbit stewed with ale and onions, hot oatbread, cod cakes, and honeycakes baked with blackberries and nuts. Arya gave her mother and good-sister a tale of escape, fleeing Riverrun as Freys began to swoop upon the castle. She wandered, she said. All about the Riverlands, unsure of who to trust or which way to go. Her direwolf had taken another path from hers. Only when Arya encountered a group of Lannister soldiers, did she learn about the Tullys' return to their home, the return of a queen, and the rumor of the dragon. 

But Rhaenys suspected that there was much Arya was not telling. _I should not fault her for that,_ she thought to herself, watching as Arya tore a cod cake into halves. _I have been telling everyone half-stories as well._ Besides, did it really matter if Arya was safe and sharing smiles with her mother in Riverrun? 

\---

Arya drew the nameless sword from its sheath, the silver sheen of the steel faint in the sparse daylight. She and Rhaenys had gone outside for a bit, sitting upon a couple of the many wooden crates that were strewn about the training yard. In the middle of the yard, Brienne had stuck a sword into Podrick Payne's hand in the hopes of turning him into some shade of a fighter. "Lady Brienne convinced me to pick up a sword," Rhaenys told Arya. "It took me some time. Then I started to think of Queen Helaena. Remember her terrible tale?"

Arya nodded. "Prince Daemon hired men to murder one of her sons. They forced her to choose which one, and she chose the younger, because he was too young to understand. But they killed the elder one instead."

"Perhaps if she was armed, she wouldn't have had to choose between the two."

Arya slid the steel back in its scabbard, handing it back to Rhaenys. "It's lethal as it's pretty. Robb always knew you well." 

Rhaenys rested the sword upon her lap, her finger tracing the petals of the lapis lazuli rose. "I promised i'd tell him its name when we see each other again."

Arya patted the hilt of Needle. The skinny sword hung dutifully from her belt, and no one objected to its presence. Lady Catelyn came to terms that it was a reason why her daughter could have survived on her own for so long. "All the best swords--"

"--have names," Rhaenys finished. "Don't worry, I remember."

They both smiled, turning their heads just in time to see Brienne knock Pod to the ground, and Riverrun's steward Utherydes Wayn flit around them, looking, as always, as though he had swallowed a lemon. "Your Grace," his thin voice called out. "Lord Tully wishes for you to join him in the Great Hall." 

"Has something happened?" Rhaenys queried, easing herself from the crate, Arya right behind her, and they followed the steward into the keep. 

"Harrion Karstark came to the gates, with many northern prisoners."

"Lord Harrion?" Rhaenys repeated. She haven't seen him since Harrenhal. 

Inside the Great Hall, there were rough clothed men lined against the walls, the household guard weaved among them. Standing before the Tully's high seat was a man who had once been considered fierce by many. The fierceness had all but gone from him, leaving him as gaunt as his father Lord Karstark once was. Harrion Karstark twisted around as Rhaenys entered the hall. "Queen Rhaenys!" He rasped. 

But Rhaenys still hadn't forgiven the Karstarks. She walked pass him without so much a glance, taking the chair next to Lord Edmure's. Roslin was on his other side, and Lady Catelyn next to her. Maester Vyman and the captain of the guards, Ser Robin Ryger, were also at the longtable. Arya lingered at the doorway, where Brienne and Podrick had quietly joined.

"Lord Harrion," Rhaenys heeded at last. She rested her sword upon her knee, though she did not bear its steel. 

"My queen," he said, bowing his head. "Lord Tully told me King Robb had gone east to King's Landing."

"He means to take the city and end this war for good." Rhaenys glanced around the hall-- there must have been no more than fifty men. "Speak, my lord. I'm sure you have much to say."

"Aye," he grunted. "A fortnight after you and the king left Harrenhal, Roose Bolton sent Robett Glover and Helman Tallhart to lead men to take Duskendale. I was with them."

Rhaenys furrowed her brow. "We were told that Lord Robett and Ser Helman attacked Duskendale of their own accord."

"Bolton must have ordered the attack knowing it would cost Robb northernmen strength," Edmure scorned. 

Rhaenys took a deep breath, keeping back a rising anger for the dead lord Roose Bolton. "Go on, Lord Harrion."

"We were all held at Maidenpool. Then a month ago, the Brotherhood without banners stormed the town and freed us."

"And so you came here."

"Aye, Your Grace. We come to aid yours and King Robb's cause."

Lord Harrion's intent rang strong, yet he may as well have said it with a dagger to his throat. _The North remembers_ , Rhaenys reminded herself. _But so do I_. "As I remember, the Karstarks deserted Robb," she said.

From the ranks of northernmen, one of the boldest-- a Karstark man no doubt-- muttered loudly: "He murdered Lord Rickard." 

Rhaenys gave him a sharp look. "Lord Rickard committed treason against his king, to which the punishment is death." Unto Lord Harrion, she spoke of his house's betrayal, her ire rising with every word. "Karstark men betrayed us at the Twins. Karstark men joined Bolton men to slaughter Robb's at the Red Wedding. Karstark men died fighting for Roose Bolton. Karstark men gave Lady Catelyn's youngest son to the Boltons." Rhaenys leaned back in her chair, glaring at him. "The North remembers, my lord." 

Lord Harrion clenched his fist, his face white. He looked desperately to Lady Catelyn. "Lady Stark--"

"My daughter Sansa is now the Lady of Winterfell," she replied evenly. "Your house answers to her, but for now, you will answer to my good-daughter, your queen."

He bowed his head, knowing well that in that very hall, the future of the Karstarks would be marked out. "Queen Rhaenys, I did not know that my father had died until months after it happened. None of us can change the past. Please, allow me to redeem House Karstark, in your honor."

Rhaenys glanced to her good-mother; her face bore little hint to what she wanted of the Karstarks. The rest in the Great Hall seemed to have held their breath, anxious for what was to come. "The Karstarks have fought beside the Starks for generations," Rhaenys finally said. "Your sister is Lady of Karhold in your absence. If Alys is still the bright girl i've known her to be, she would have sworn fealty to House Stark once again."

"Aye, she would want to keep the peace in the North." Harrion stood a bit straighter, a bit prouder. " _I_ want peace in the North. That is why I chose to come to Riverrun. The chances for peace in my homeland seem better here than any place else. I heard what happened at Winterfell, how you slew the turncloak Bolton. I know you would die for the North, just as much as I would." Harrion gazed around him, to the men who came this far with him. "The only queen worth dying for is the one who would die for you."

 _He wants peace_ , Rhaenys thought. _Peace and home, and he is a man willing to pass over his own ill feelings to get it_. "Your uncle Arnolf was the one who declared your house for the Boltons. I don't know if he has seen justice for his betrayal. If not, he is yours and Alys' to judge, and Sansa's to punish."

"My queen, I will make sure he hangs."

When Rhaenys left the hall, clutching her sword, Arya followed her out. "Why didn't you punish him?" She asked. "The Karstarks betrayed Robb."

"They did," Rhaenys sighed. "But Lord Harrion did not."

The corridors seemed to have grown darker, the candles upon the sconces more brighter-- the threat of a snowstorm loomed closer by the hour. "He would have," Arya insisted. "Had he been here when Robb executed Lord Karstark."

"Perhaps," Rhaenys admitted. "But when I left Winterfell, the Karstark army boasted two thousand men. Men that Sansa will need to help defend the North. Darker days have yet to come, and we can only endure them if we keep peace amongst one another, and help each other."

"What the Karstarks did to us is far worse than what Robb did to them," Arya said bitterly, as they walked up the stairs. "And men have lost their heads to crimes less worse."

At the top of the stairwell, Rhaenys stopped. "I kill Lord Harrion," she said exasperatedly. "Then what? Display his head upon the castle wall so others would fear me? Like what Joffery used to do?" Half of Arya's face was masked by a shadow, but her features were ever so still. "A year ago, I would have killed him, just because of his family's deeds. But i've learned to find compromise between feelings and duty. Only loyal men will survive the winter. For Lord Harrion's own sake, and for that of his house, he will be a loyal man."

Arya's eyes glanced away for a heartbeat, as she brooded over everything. "I don't think I could ever be a queen."

Rhaenys gave her a grim smile. "It's not for the tender hearted." They strode into her chambers, and she rested the sword upon the mantle. "Arya," she said, thinking to try her luck, especially while they were alone. About your list…of people you wish to kill.

"What about it?"

Rhaenys turned around to face her. The suspicion had been gnawing at her since Arya spoke of a list. "I'm sure Walder Frey was on it."

Arya clasped her hands behind her back, looking calm. "He was."

"Do you know what happened to him?"

"I killed him," Arya told her. "Then I killed the rest." She approached Rhaenys like a cat-like gait, her face as calm as a pool of water. "But I left Walder's wife be, so she could tell the others that winter came for House Frey."

 _Not yet thirteen_ , Rhaenys reminded herself, but that had nothing to do with anything. There was no use mourning the girls they once were. "Did Lord Frey know who you were?" She asked.

"Yes."

"I'm glad."

\---

No matter how many furs Rhaenys burrowed under, the cold never left her. She gave up entirely, throwing them aside, some slipping onto the floor. Her hand flitted to her brow, as she wondered if she caught a fever-- it did not seem so. But she was cold. The bed was cold. Even her bedgown felt as though it had been spun from ice. Her dreams had been just as cold-- a faceless figure, tall and yielding a longsword. When it spoke, its voice sounded familiar, but only barely so. Her half-brother, she supposed. 

During the day, the half-brother seemed like a dead stranger; at night, however, he took on some form of being when she dreamed. Sometimes he had silver hair, other times brown-- or he had eyes of indigo, then in a turn of the light, grey. One night, she dreamt him with both hair and eyes that were undoubtedly Stark, and she woke with a fright whose face went forgotten by morning. 

And Robb. What would he make of it? His aunt and her father had a child-- it would sound more odd if she said it out loud. 

Rhaenys tried for sleep again, settling on her side and curling up against the sheets. 

_She dreamt she was flying north atop Sonaral, over a towering wall of cracking ice. Beneath them were thousands of men, all screaming for war. Rhaenys urged her dragon to the ground, and saw that the hosts were armored in ice. Sonaral sang dragonfire unto them, and they cried like falling rain. An easy triumph that did not last for long, for another rose from the ranks, crowned with horns and clutching an ice-tipped spear-- Rhaenys did not remember him throwing the weapon, but she and her dragon fell, just so. She clambered to her feet, looking wildly about for Sonaral. Someone called her name, and then a second voice joined. As their voices were lost in the winter wind, another dragon rose from the ice, monstrous and thrice-headed…_

Rhaenys awoke all at once, her fingers and toes tingling as though she had been out in that cold wasteland. Then she remembered she had tossed some of the furs away. She pushed away what she had left herself with, and went to the window to open the curtains, unveiling the morning light. 

The snowfall had returned, the first since Robb left. Rhaenys leaned against the sill, watching as flakes drifted down silently. While she watched, someone tapped at the door, a quiet tap that she recognized. "Come in," she said, and Maester Vyman entered, Lord Edmure and Lady Catelyn with him,

"A raven came from Dragonstone, Your Grace," he said. 

Rhaenys turned away from the window, a knot already tangled in her belly, as Vyman passed a thin roll of parchment to her. She looked nervously to Lady Catelyn before cracking the wax seal with her thumb, unreeling it to reveal Jon's handwriting. She hadn't even read the whole message when her hands fell limp, her gaze frozen over the words.

Lady Catelyn rushed over. "What's wrong?" She asked, placing a hand upon Rhaenys' shoulder. "Rhaenys, what's the matter?"

"Daenerys is at Dragonstone."

The silence fell as quick as the snowflakes outside did. Rhaenys never considered that her aunt could have returned to Westeros so soon. Daenerys was steadfast about remaining in Meereen to hone her duty as a queen; had she done that so quickly? "What can she do?" Lord Edmure asked.

"I don't know," Rhaenys replied. "That's what frightening." She rolled the message back into a scroll and clutched it tightly. "Our last encounter wasn't exactly pleasant."

"You've spoken about her forces," Edmure remarked. "Those at Dragonstone is able enough, should she try to pick a fight."

"Most of Dragonstone's forces should be in King's Landing by the new moon. What's to be left behind won't stand steady against Daenerys' armies." Rhaenys bit her lip. "But it doesn't seem right to defend the castle from her…it belongs to our family."

"Same could be said about the Iron Throne."

Rhaenys eased away from Lady Catelyn, returning to the window. Already, the fresh snowfall mantled thick upon the grounds below, reclaiming the garden and the godswood, the walls, the statues, and the trees with white, banishing the thought of a winter's respite. She had told Arya that they would endure the dark days to come if they kept peace, and helped one another. "We've come this far," she said, coming away from the window. "I won't let Daenerys threaten what we've done." But there was only one way to make sure of it. "I have to go back to Dragonstone."

\----

After Rhaenys pulled on the other glove, she had to stay the panic that rose in her breath. She curled her fingers into her palm, kneading the new sturdy leather until it felt supple. The rest of her garb was also new; a heavy riding dress of dark grey, adorned with a pair of silver dragon heads at the collar. Tiny dragonscales were embroidered at the bodice, along the shoulders, and down the sleeves to the elbow. Underneath she wore fitted leather trousers and boots laced to just below her knee. Over it all, a fur lined surcoat of black, sharing the same embroidery as the dress, and trimmed with more grey fox fur. Clinched at her waist a wide black leather belt where her newly named blade was secured.

 _We can send someone on your behalf,_ Lord Edmure had said.

_No…it has to be me. Blood to blood, lest my aunt and I start another dance…_

She left the bedchamber for the last time, nervously lacing her fingers together as she entered the nursery. As she asked the maids to leave, Rhaenys went to kneel beside the cradle. Ned and Elia were already a month old, and growing a bit more everyday. She pulled the ivory blanket closer around the sleeping pair, wondering if they were too young to miss her-- or remember her. 

_Lady Catelyn, my children are in your hands. Should Maester Vyman deem it safe, take them to Winterfell. Better, before the rivers freeze. Ser Barristan and Lady Brienne will remain with you the entire way…_

"One day," Rhaenys murmured to them. "You'll understand why your papa and I had to leave. We want a better world, one where you two can live happily without having to wonder if it could end tomorrow." Ned stirred in his sleep, and moments later, so did Elia. Rhaenys' head hung heavy over them, and she felt lonely in her heart; no one would ever know, no matter how much that claimed they did, her sorrows. 

_Ned and Elia aren't safe in this world, not as it is! Cersei needs to fall, Jaime and Tywin right behind her, and I have to ward away a war with Daenerys for that to happen. It's the only way I can keep my babies safe…_

But she took a deep breath and leaned down to kiss her babies. "May your dreams always be sweet, my sweet children. I love you."

_If Robb and I don't return, you will put my son on the Iron Throne..._

Her tears had gone by the time she reached the bottom stair, where Arya awaited her. "Rhae, let me come with you," she appealed for a second time, as the two walked through the keep.

"I doubt your mother will allow you from her sight anytime soon," Rhaenys remarked. "Go back to Winterfell with her. Help watch over Ned and Elia."

Arya opened her mouth to argue, but thought against it; she must have still been tired from the first attempt. "After you've won, you and Robb will return to Winterfell. Promise?"

Rhaenys smiled. "I promise, Arya."

They had reached the massive redwood doors when Rhaenys suddenly halted. "Oh…I almost forgot." She touched the rose at the hilt of her sword. "I found its name at last."

"What is it?" Arya asked eagerly.

"Fyreheart."

Her good-sister grinned, a smile that only grew larger when she saw the dragon waiting for her rider at the foregrounds of Riverrun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can relate to rhaenys; rhaegar also gives me a headache. Also, I really wish I could describe clothing better; clothes themselves can tell a story.
> 
> As of now, hurricane irma is coming straight my way, so i REALLY can't say when the next update is. Pretty sure we're going to lose power (and thats hopefully all we lose).


	78. dragonspawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The winds sprouted teeth at the crown of the Sea Dragon, the chill of the sea stirring curls of raven and silver."

The sky above Dragonstone was the shade of a robin's eggshell. The wind blew quiet and mild, the chill more of a swat than a bite. Even the sun kept an admirable hold on its waning reign, though its light seemed a bit colder. Little did the inhabitants of the island knew, that a cruel and cold betrayal of such pleasantries was slowly hewing a way east. Winter would come to Dragonstone soon enough.

Sonaral dug her talons into the familiar crag where a narrow stone bridge began, and allowed her rider to safely leap onto it. Though the castle loomed only feet away, Rhaenys instead took a moment to catch her breath, and stare out into the great sea where a seamless bright line wedded the water to the sky. The crash of the waves against the dark cliffs all but drowned out the commotion she and her dragon had roused. Rhaenys sighed, giving Sonaral another pat. "Be nice," she told her, as the other three dragons began to shriek once again, weaving around the castle in a feverish excitement. But Sonaral had come far from the little hatchling they had once glimpsed, and she was quick to let them know with a single piercing screech, one that even caused gooseflesh to riddle down Rhaenys' neck. 

Sonaral's sapphire eyes flitted pass Rhaenys, fixed upon the larger dragons above. A low rumble sounded from her throat, bitter with hostility. "Sonaral," Rhaenys gently warned, stroking underneath her powerful jaw until the grumble turned into a purr. "Sweet girl," she cooed, before bidding the dragon a farewell. Rhaenys then began the short climb to the castle, her heart pounding with every step she took upon the soft green grass. She felt the rush of the warm wind Sonaral's wings stirred as the dragon returned to the sky. It was said that no god held power over dragons, and Rhaenys figured it a waste to pray for the four to get along-- perhaps such was the same for her and Daenerys.

Before she came to the western gates, two guardsmen rushed to her, their eyes waxing as they recognized her. "Queen Rhaenys!" One of them gasped, breathless from the run. "We didn't know you'd be returning!"

"I hadn't the time to send a raven," she replied. Too anxious to delay, she continued her way into Dragonstone, the guardsmen hastily shadowing her. They passed through the egress, where a pair of snarling and grotesque stone dragons twisted around the archway. "Have either of you seen my good-brother, by any chance?" No sooner did she ask, Rhaenys saw him emerge from the shadow of one the towers, his usual somberness already melted from his face. Others had been at his heels, but it was the sight of Jon Snow that comforted Rhaenys at once, numbing the fears she carried east with her.

"Rhae!" Jon breathed, after she ran and threw her arms around his neck. In his safety, Rhaenys pressed her cheek to his shoulder and realized how tired she was. 

Before it could properly settle into her bones, she lifted her weary eyes from the ground and to the rest that heard the dragon's call. Her heart leapt in delight as she spotted her uncle Oberyn, and then it vaulted in surprise when she saw Arianne at his side. Oberyn was grinning, his red silk cloak replaced with one of red fox fur, his blackened copper armor still ashine. Though she was well bundled in rosy furs and sunset colored wool, Arianne looked every part a Dornish princess. "The queen at last," Arianne remarked, as she nimbly strode towards them. Rhaenys grinned, and her cousin beamed in reply. "Oh, there's that sweet smile," Arianne murmured, as they embraced. "It had not gone after all." 

"Elia's smile," Oberyn uttered, mussing his nieces' hair as though they were little girls again, before putting his arms around them. "Sweet enough to turn venom into honey." Then he looked to Rhaenys, his dark eyes shining, and kissed her brow. "My little sun."

A Targaryen, standing in the shadow of the great castle her ancestors raised, her beloved family gathered around her-- this was how it was meant to be. Yet, Rhaenys could not enjoy the feeling to the fullest. Her eyes found Tyrion Lannister--perhaps it was only a trick played by the sunlight in his mismatched eyes, but the emerald one betrayed the look of relief in the onyx. Rhaenys did not have to guess the reason why, for she was standing right beside him.

Daenerys. Clad in black, with a blood-red cape that gracefully cascaded over one shoulder, and kept in place with a silver thrice-headed dragon-- it fluttered lightly in the sea breeze, along with her silver curls. Her amethyst eyes were still, her lips curved in neither a frown or smile. "Welcome home," Rhaenys said. She meant it. Daenerys nodded tersely, clasping her hands together. 

It was just as when they met for the first time; the air hazy with doubt, now thickened with apprehension. In response, Tyrion cleared his throat, keeping his voice blithe as he asked: "How are the twins, Your Grace?" 

"Safe and sound with their grandmother and great-uncle," Rhaenys replied. She glanced at Jon, a smile tugging her lips. "And their youngest aunt."

Jon seemed confused, but only for a moment. "Arya," he breathed, a soft sigh of relief. "She's in Riverrun?"

Rhaenys smiled. "She found her way back."

"Of course she did…"

Rhaenys dearly wanted to share more with her good-brother, but she had come to Dragonstone not for him. She left the loved ones who had flocked around her, approaching Daenerys Stormborn. "Daenerys, we have much to talk about, I suspect."

"So we do," she agreed, and the two women left the yard, leaving silence in their wake. 

\---

The winds sprouted teeth at the crown of the Sea Dragon, the chill of the sea stirring curls of raven and silver. Rhaenys and Daenerys stood at the parapet, their hands resting upon the dragonstone as they watched the waters. The shrieking dragons had grown silent for some time now. Ever so often, Rhaenys would steal a glance at Daenerys, but her aunt's gaze was fixed sternly upon the calm sea. But just as Rhaenys turned away for a third time, Daenerys spoke at last, her voice as still as the sea before them: "Rhaenys, do you think me your enemy?"

"I would never want to," she replied. "You're my aunt."

Daenerys dipped her head, her lips pressed in a stony smile. "Then why did you leave your children to come here? You would have never left them unless you were desperate."

Her aunt knew her heart well enough. "Jon had written to me about your arrival," said Rhaenys. "I didn't expect you to return to Westeros so soon."

Daenerys met eyes with her at last, arching an eyebrow as she did. "So you came all this way to say hello?"

There was nothing to be gained or even lost, from dancing around the truth-- especially since Rhaenys left her babes for it. "I came back to make sure that moons of planning will not be disturbed," she said bluntly. 

"By myself you mean," Daenerys said wryly. "I thought we weren't enemies." She turned away from Rhaenys, lifting her violet eyes towards the high walls and dark spires of Dragonstone. "We were both born princesses inside this very castle," she mused. "Only you had the chance to be one."

Something within Rhaenys' stirred, and it was not pleasant. "So you blame me for getting the luck of the gods' hands," she said, fighting to keep her voice civil. 

"Our circumstances were far beyond our reach," Daenerys said, her eyes burning. "But your luck does not make you better than me."

"I never thought myself better than you!" Rhaenys swore, astonished by her aunt's words. 

But the amethyst eyes were still burning. "Then what makes you the better queen?"

"Aside from verity, that the line falls to me?" Rhaenys seethed. Such was the way it had always been, but this was much more than a gods' given birthright. "I am a daughter of Dorne, wife of the North, and good-daughter to the Riverlands. They will never kneel to you. Tyrion Lannister is my Hand. Stannis Baratheon is in my debt. Asha Greyjoy is my friend. None of them would kneel to you either. How do you intend to convince these loyal people of mine to your claim?" Daenerys laid an open palm against the black stone of the parapet, the tips of her gloves grazing the surface lightly. She continued to hold Rhaenys' gaze, but the slightest of something changed. 

"Am I interrupting something?"

Rhaenys and Daenerys both looked over their shoulders. The old woman was quite small, her hair hidden beneath an elaborate black scarf that was embroidered with roses. Her skin was spotted and pale, made even whiter by the black she wore from head to toe. "It would seem that I have," she remarked, looking rather pleased with herself. 

"Lady Olenna," Daenerys muttered to Rhaenys. "Of House Tyrell."

Lady Olenna joined them at the parapet, her gait quiet and strong. "So you're Rhaenys Targaryen," the old woman remarked. "The things they've said about you in the Red Keep's courts." She sighed heavily. "Of course, that sweet girl Sansa spoke the truth about you." At the mention of Sansa's name, Rhaenys remembered-- Lady Olenna was Margaery Tyrell's grandmother, as well as Ser Loras'. "Well, i'm glad that old cunt Walder Frey came to naught," Lady Olenna uttered, tempting a small smile from Rhaenys, and even Daenerys. "I heard he got what was long awaiting him. Have you?"

"I have, my lady," Rhaenys replied.

Lady Olenna smiled. "Your doing, by any chance?"

"No…but I know whose."

"Good." She rested her elbow upon the parapet, studying the two with a hawk's keen. "Loras' life seemed to have returned to him, since hearing of his sister's death. He wishes to use what's left of it to see Cersei to her grave."

Rhaenys dipped her head respectfully. "Lady Olenna, I swear to you that the Lannisters will pay for what they have done to your family."

"I expect, the same price for what they have done to yours?"

"It's a fair price, my lady. You needn't worry." Lady Olenna said nothing, but she smiled. "And as for Ser Loras," Rhaenys continued. "He is free to return to Highgarden."

"Oh? That's rather generous of you."

"I had written to Lord Willas, asking for House Tyrell's aid. Is that not why you're here, my lady?"

The tips of Lady Olenna's gnarled fingers tapped against the dragonstone. Without answering, she asked: "Will you _both_ take some advice from an old woman?"

Rhaenys nodded, as did Daenerys. 

"Every creature in this world has a head and a heart. Some are more strongly ruled by one over the other, but ultimately, it is the two together that makes us what we are." Lady Olenna's words then grew sharper. "Now, you two can play Aegon and Rhaenyra all you want." She flicked a gaunt finger out towards the sea. "But the true enemy is out _there_ , and I know that means more to the both of you than that hideous iron chair. Those lords of Westeros are sheep. Are you two sheep?" Despite the woman's age, her gaze was terribly astute, boring into the two Taragaryens like a pair of steel tipped thorns. "No, you are both dragons. Be dragons."

Her peace said, Lady Olenna dismissed herself. Rhaenys couldn't help but feel as though she had been scolded-- telling by the look upon Daenerys' face, she must have felt the same. They looked upon each other, all the venom of before milked from them by some truth in Lady Olenna's words. 

Rhaenys and Daenerys were as different as the sun and the moon; yet the two have always been known to peacefully share the same sky. 

\---

Rhaenys took the turnpike stairs two at a time, her heart nearly jumping out of her chest when a sharp meow echoed throughout the stone. "Meleys!" She breathed, spotting the ruddy she-cat that was sitting daintily at the bottom stair. The cat purred loudly in response, kneading the hem of Rhaenys' skirts. "I hadn't forgotten about you," Rhaenys promised, crouching down to rub the creature's head. Meleys mewed again, following her out the doors. Outside, Rhaenys' head spun with all she had to do and say, seemingly all at once. She took to her first priority-- finding her good-brother once again. 

As luck had it, she found Jon just outside the wide open doors of the Stone Drum. "How did it go?" He asked, beckoning for her to enter the keep first. "I can see that the castle is still standing."

"Olenna Tyrell urges that we work together," Rhaenys replied. As they entered, the bright daylight was quickly usurped by the wonted darkess of the castle; Dragonstone was truly a grim place, but at the same time, it reminded Rhaenys of Winterfell. 

"A fair enough idea," Jon said. "But what happens after?" 

"I came all this way and i'm still not sure."

They walked past the great hall and the throne room, until they came to a towering window of leaded glass that rose at the end of the corridor. Inlaid upon the window was colored glass that limned a great golden dragon, which also haloed a young maiden with silver hair-- presumedly Daenys Targaryen, the dreamer who spared the Targaryens of the Doom of Valyria. Beneath the window was a stone bench where Rhaenys and Jon chose to continue their discussion (while Meleys ignored them from Rhaenys' lap).

"The line falls to you," Jon sighed. "It can't be anymore clear. And you've already an heir."

Rhaenys ran her fingers through the cat's red fur as she thought of the small children she left. "I assume you did tell Daenerys about Ned and Elia."

"I thought it would ease her mood," said Jon. "To hear that she had arrived to Westeros a great-aunt."

"Well, did it?"

"I think…she was happy for you, Rhae," he attested. "When Robb's letter came, all in this castle had their share of merrymaking…I suppose it's not often that birth announcements accompany tellings of war."

"No, I suppose not."

The corridor became darker, the golden dragon of the window not as golden. Rhaenys peered behind her shoulder to see the early darkness that was descending upon the island. Through the leaded glass, the world was clouded together, blurring the greying sky and sea into one intangible thing. "What are they like?" Jon suddenly asked. "The twins...I only know what Robb had written. His eyes, your curls. Even in the ink, I could tell how proud he was."

Rhaenys smiled, bittersweet. "Ned is a quiet little thing," she told him. "And Elia is already half a wild thing..." The more she thought about them, the more her smile seemed to droop, until tears blurred her sight. Something dark and heavy crawled into her chest, raising panic as it did. Rising and rising until it struck against her heart. "Gods, I must be the worse mother in the world…" she mumbled, shaking her head in disgust with herself. "Oh, I wish you could see them now, Jon. They're so small. Only a moon old and I left them…"

She felt Jon's hand gently lift hers from the cat, enough for him to grasp her fingers. "Robb had to leave them before you did. Would you call him a terrible father?"

"No," Rhaenys said quietly. "Never."

"Then by what right would anyone dare to call you a terrible mother?" Jon gave her hand a light squeeze. "You trusted your heart to protect your children, and I know in mine that you will reap from it." 

Rhaenys sighed, breathing deeply to stay the panic. "I…I told Lord Edmure, that should Robb and I not survive this… all of you will see Ned to the Iron Throne."

Surely at the thought of losing his half-brother and good-sister once again and for good, dismay crossed Jon's face. But he bowed his head. "I won't ever stop fighting for you Rhaenys," he murmured. "I promise."

The dark and heavy thing in her chest relented, perhaps knowing that Jon Snow always did his damnedest to keep his promises. Grateful to be rid of the feeling, Rhaenys rested her head against his shoulder."I'm glad you didn't join the Night's Watch," she remarked.

Jon chuckled. "Well, someone has to watch over you. I can't expect poor Robb to manage it all on his own."

Rhaenys snorted, poking his arm with a finger, but it only made him laugh again. "Well...I suppose since i'm here now, we have something else we need to talk about." She glanced up at his face. "Petyr Baelish." She hadn't forgotten about him, not in any way. At least he would finally be tried for the treacherous accusations against him.

But Jon had suddenly become very grave, all the laughter gone from his face. "Rhaenys…it wasn't Baelish."

She lifted her head from his shoulder. "What?"

"Baelish didn't free the prisoners," Jon said, just before he told her who did. "It was Gerold Dayne."

Rhaenys stared at Jon in horror. It was a Dornish knight who had betrayed her? 

Jon began to explain. "Arys Oakheart had witnessed it all. He spent days pleading with the guards to speak with anyone loyal to you. Lord Tyrion and I decided to humor him one day, but then Oakheart told us what happened. Dayne went down to the dungeons to kill Lancel Lannister-- and he did, freeing the rest of the prisoners by mishap. He only confessed when Prince Oberyn got involved." 

_Seven hells,_ Rhaenys thought. _None of this makes sense._ "You're telling me that Gerold Dayne just decided to go down to the dungeons one day and kill a prisoner?"

"That man is as fickle as he is dangerous," Jon grunted. "Tyrion thinks he did it because he was bored, but Oberyn believes he was acting as a catspaw for someone else."

Gerold Dayne had been quietly called the most dangerous man in Dorne, but dangerous men always roamed, and some even settled. "Where is Gerold now?" Rhaenys asked.

"In what was Lancel's cell. He awaits your judgement" Jon shook his head, anger turning his dark grey eyes hard as stone. "Gods, Rhaenys. I never thought a Dornishman would betray you."

A crack of thunder shook the leaded glass, causing Meleys to hiss and leap down from Rhaenys' lap. She ran down the hall, and skirted around the two men who were walking down it--Lord Tyrion, accompanied by a man Rhaenys hadn't expected. "Lord Varys!" She exclaimed, as his face was illuminated by a torch's light. 

The eunuch smiled, bowing his head. The rich silks and damasks of plum and lilac he was so fond of were replaced with fur and smokey grey wool. "My queen," he spoke, his petal-soft voice nearly lost in another roll of thunder. "I've seen that the time since our last meeting has been kinder to you." 

"When did you come to Dragonstone?" Rhaenys asked.

"With Lady Olenna and Princess Arianne," he replied. "Dragonstone, as it happens, is the best place for any loyalist of yours to be." Varys tucked his hands into pockets at the front of his tunic. "But you've a claimant to your loyalty who dearly wishes to speak with you, but she had turned quite bashful upon your arrival."

"And who would that be?"

Varys' voice was cool with contempt. "Melisandre of Asshai."

\---

Outside the tall windows of the great hall, a storm crept slowly, dragging trilling wind and bright streaks of lightning along with it. The grueling waves rolled and slammed against the crags. As the tempest came abloom, the red woman watched, evermore red. She was swathed in the color, more so than usual. She turned around as the doors creaked shut, her pale face melancholic. " _ **Queen Rhaenys,**_ " she greeted in Valyrian, bowing her head. The ruby at her throat peaked out from her shawl, glinting strangely.

"Melisandre," Rhaenys replied in kind, though her tone was tart. Keeping a few steps behind her were Tyrion and Varys, neither of them knowing of what happened between her and the red priestess. _**"I did not think we would meet again... not after what happened in the North."**_

" _ **Neither did I**_ ," she agreed, but there was a courage in her bright green eyes urged her forward. " _ **Yet, I have heard word of your brave feats, and spent days and nights coupling them to the word of the R'hllor. When I learned that ice and fire came to Dragonstone, I knew it would be wrong, even dire, to keep the Lord's word to myself."**_

Even if she tried, Rhaenys could not bring a harsh word against the red god, not after Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion made His power clear to her. _**"So your lord did not forsake you after all,"**_ she remarked.

_**"When I thought He had, I learned He did not. You caught His eye, even before you rose unburnt."** _

Rhaenys' fate with this strange red eastern god was sealed, it seemed. Thoros had been sure of it, when she woke in that cave after three days of death. At that time, however, it barely mattered in any way to her. _**"A red priest of Myr had told me that the Lord of Light has plans for me,"**_ Rhaenys revealed. Melisandre's dark brows furrowed, all the dread melting from her face by the heat of a solace. _**"So what does He expect of me?"**_

 _ **"The Long Night is coming,"**_ Melisandre spoke. _**"Only the prince who was promised can bring back the dawn."**_

The Long Night. The prince who was promised. Rhaenys would have never expected either of those things to be said by anyone. "You know about the promised prince?" She asked, in Common Tongue.

"As Azor Ahai," said Melisandre. "Born again indeed, but not as I had expected."

"Not as Stannis Baratheon, you mean." 

Behind her, Rhaenys heard Varys' heavy sigh and Tyrion's indiscreet cough. The red priestess bowed her head. "No," she simply avowed. 

"The Long Night had always been one of my nursemaid's stories," said Rhaenys. "Furthermore, I am not a prince and you shall find none here."

"In the tongue of Valyria, many words are neither male or female," Melisandre told her. "Just as the dragons were said to neither. The truest translation should be the prince _or_ princess who was promised."

The strange cold feeling returned to Rhaenys' spine, as quick as it did in Riverrun when Lady Catelyn spoke of a promised princess. Of course, she knew naught about any prophecy. "A bit of a mouth full," Tyrion remarked. 

"Strange you should speak of a promised princess," Lord Varys uttered. "The only one I know of is the one that was promised to House Stark."

Melisandre's gaze shifted unto him. "Do the wolves have a prophecy of their own?"

"A pact," Varys corrected her. "Of Ice and Fire. Drawn up between the wolves and the dragons during another great war, but i'll spare you the history lesson. The last of the agreement was finally fulfilled when Rhaenys Taragaryn married Robb Stark."

Melisandre had mentioned something about ice and fire, and Rhaenys could see how fascinated she had become. The risk she had taken to come to Dragonstone was paying itself off. "Do you believe that the prophecy refers to me?" Rhaenys asked, a twine of dread tying itself into a knot in her belly. Rhaegar's prophecy was coming back to haunt her, in life rather than dream. 

"I believe you have a role to play," the red woman replied. "As do others...Daenerys Stormborn and Jon Snow."

The knot tightened. "Jon?" Rhaenys echoed. 

"Ned Stark's bastard?" Varys queried. "Why did your Lord of Light single him out out in your flames?"

"I know not," Melisandre admitted. "But I saw Snow amidst the smoke." To Rhaenys, she declared: "Jon Snow is important to you."

"He's my good-brother," Rhaenys said, still confused. "A brother to me even before that." 

The ruby at Melisandre's neck seemed brighter all of a sudden. "Then enough of a reason for him to aid you through the nights to come." 

Tyrion snorted. "A good brother and not a husband?"

"I have not overlooked the worth of Robb Stark. He too has a part in this, though his is more duty than prophecy."

 _Prophecy_. Rhaenys bit her lip, her mind wandering. _The dragon has three heads,_ she thought. _Me, Daenerys…and_ Jon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, probably: "omg rhaenys he's your brother its right in front of you!!"
> 
> Seems like a stressful conclusion to come to-- finding out that your husband's half-brother is actually yours.
> 
> I still don't know what Gerold's problem is in canon. I really want to know why he's called the most dangerous man in dorne, like what did he do? 
> 
> Anyway, I could use an Olenna Tyrell to verbally slap some sense into me.


	79. blood in the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is only one true ruler of Westeros, and she is standing before you."

The water was still steaming when Rhaenys stepped into the tub. Warm gauzy wisps that caressed her bare skin-- they could not have been more welcomed during such an evening, when a storm bled darkness and sang rain and wind upon Dragonstone. As the storm's song was sung, Rhaeny leaned back against the tub, taking a deep breath to rein her focus in; a storm all on its own. Since leaving the great hall, the prophecy had wrested into her mind in a way it never had dared to before. As for the Long Night…she thought it to be the coming winter and nothing more-- Lord Stark had said that long summers yielded to long winters, but winter was winter, and there was no steel in the world that could best it; nothing left that could be done... 

Jon had asked her, the concerned good-brother that he had always been. He was waiting for her just outside the hall, his dark grey eyes darker than usual in the wan light. When he asked, Rhaenys only shrugged and told him what those devotees of the red god were fond of saying; that the night was dark and full of terrors. Then she announced that she was tired, a half lie. But somehow, she knew that Jon could tell that it was indeed only half a lie. _We'll speak more on the morrow,_ he replied nevertheless, but before Rhaenys could retire to her chambers, he finally took notice of the sword at her belt. _When did you start carrying a sword?_ Jon asked her, curious and amused. 

_Lady Brienne gave me lessons at Riverrun._ Rhaenys reached for the hilt, drawing the steel so he could see it. _Robb gave me this the day he left._

Jon smiled as he studied the steel, missing no detail. _Does it have a name?_

_Fyreheart._

_Perfect._

Prophecies were dangerous things, perhaps not worth the trouble they stirred when believers tripped, stumbled, and fell in their desire to heed to promising words. Both Rhaenys and Daenerys were both still paying for their fathers' debts; perhaps a prophecy was already a dark fit for them. But Jon Snow had done nothing wrong, nothing that could curse him with such a shadowy fate; Rhaenys wanted nothing more than to protect him from it. 

Rhaenys lowered herself deeper into the water, until it covered her to her chin. Tendrils of hair escaped from the knot she had hastily gathered near the top of her head. The chunk of lye soap remained idle in her hand; when it slipped from between her fingers and to the bottom of the tub, she left it be. Her mind had wandered back west. She could see her two little ones snug and warm within their cradle, or perhaps bundled in their grandmother's arms. There was an ache when she couldn't guess where Robb was that moment. Somewhere along the Kingsroad, surely. She reminded herself that she would see him again sooner than they both thought. She didn't tell Jon yet, but she doubted she had to-- now that Rhaenys was there, of course she would join him west to King's Landing. No more waiting. 

Her hand dropped to her belly, which was still a bit plump from having to carry twins for eight moons. The scar, however, would always be there-- a finger-length of puckered skin, pink and angry. Rhaenys closed her eyes, trying to find peace in the bath while it was still hot and fragrant with rose oil. And she nearly did, until someone tapped at the door. She sighed softly. "Come in." 

The door cracked open. "Your Grace," a maid spoke quietly. "Princess Daenerys wishes to speak with you."

Rhaenys hitched herself up from the water, propping an elbow at the tub's rim. "Very well. Let her in." The maid pushed the door wider open, bowing her head as Daenerys walked into the chamber. In the dancing candlelights, her amethyst eyes seemed to dance as well. As she treaded closer to the tub, the slight flutter of her blood-red cape caused the candles to shudder as she walked pass them. 

"I didn't mean to disturb your bath," said Daenerys. 

Rhaenys smiled up at her. "It's alright."

Daenerys wove her pale fingers together, ever so placid. She looked thoughtful, as though she was choosing her words carefully. Rhaenys found relief in that, knowing well enough that words of venom were never picked carefully. "The day you left Meereen," Daenerys spoke. "I called you a false dragon. I want to apologize for those words."

Rhaenys was taken aback; she certainly did not expect that. "I accept your apology," she replied earnestly. Then, in her mind came an apology she had not even considered until that moment, and for that she felt shame."I hope you accept mine." To Daenerys' confusion, she said "I should have told you why I came to Meereen the hour we met."

"I should I known why the moment I saw you," Daenerys remarked. She turned her head away, her eyes fixed upon the stone sconce upon the wall; like many in the castle, it was shaped like a dragon's head, its snarling jaws alight from the candle. "The stronger claim to the Iron Throne survived so long as you did."

Something stirred within Rhaenys; it was hope. "Now that you're here...does that change anything?"

Daenerys' face was veiled by flickering shadows. It was many heartbeats before she spoke again, soft and queenly. "I have been fleeing for my life the moment I came to my mother's womb. For many years, I was told that I was a princess that shared blood with dragons, all while I wandered and begged through foreign cities. Living in the shadows of my brother's dreams and surviving only because of the greed of men." Her soft tone hardened, and when she looked back at Rhaenys, the light in her eyes seemed to burn brighter. "Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? Faith. In myself. Faith led me east before it did west. Faith hatched three dragons in the fires of my khal's pyre. Faith helped gather and command legions of men who followed me all this way. Do you not understand why I have thought myself the rightful Queen of Westeros for so long?"

"But you're not." Rhaenys did not mean to sound so exasperated, so tired and sad; yet, she was. "Dany, you know in your heart that the people of Westeros won't kneel to you. You've no conquest here." Wishing to escape from her aunt's stony gaze, she rose from the bath. Water trickled down to her feet, dripping onto the floor as she stepped out from the tub.

"How could you expect me to so easily surrender the queen I have become?" Daenerys asked evenly.

"You became the queen that you are because of the woman you grew to be," Rhaenys uttered, turning her back to her so she could grab a towel that was draped over a chair. "I would never demand for _her_ surrender." 

But Daenerys said nothing. Rhaenys swallowed a sigh and bit her bottom lip. "My children are only a moon old," she remarked, shaking her hair loose from the knot until damp curls tumbled down her back. "I left them with the hope that we could avoid another dance." She then pulled on a dressing gown of cream silk and tied it at her hip. When she looked back to Daenerys, her brows were furrowed and her eyes looked as though they had seen something troubling-- but perhaps it was only a trick of the shadows. 

"I don't want to fight you Rhaenys," Daenerys promised. Then, she bode her niece a good night, and left the chamber. 

\---

After chambermaids cleared away the tub, Arianne strode into the chamber, flanked by a couple of serving girls. "You came all this way and still hadn't a morsel to eat?" She asked, with all the concern and gentle reproach of a septa or even a mother. Rhaenys shrugged, her eyes brushing through the supper her cousin had summoned as it was laid out upon a table-- a creamy stew of whitefish, cod, carrots, and turnips, accompanied by oatbread and applecakes. 

Despite the tempting hot fare, Rhaenys couldn't bring herself to yield, even though she hadn't eaten since the morning she left Riverrun, and Lady Catelyn had to beg her to. "I've already gorged myself on fear, " she said. Arianne smiled sadly, and nudged her towards the table nevertheless. Once Rhaenys was seated, Arianne held up her hand to reveal a small cloth pouch she had been clutching all that time.

"Perhaps this could ease your belly," she remarked, offering it to Rhaenys before taking the chair next to her. Curious, Rhaenys loosened the string, and turned the pouch upside down until its contents fell onto her open palm. It was a golden ring, its gem a brilliant oval of citrine, crowned by gold. Engraved onto the band were thin lines that curved into suns. "It was in the coffer I wrote to you about," Arianne explained, as she poured out goblets of hot spiced wine. "When I showed it to Father, he said it did belong to Elia."

Her mother's ring. With a certain sadness, Rhaenys continued to gaze upon the citrine gem. In the light, it held two colors-- a burning orange wildfire and a gentle yellow sun. "He was surprised," Arianne continued, ladling out bowls of the stew. "All of Elia's finery had been lost at King's Landing. I suppose Robert had purged the Red Keep of his guilt."

Rhaenys slipped the ring onto the second finger of her right hand; it fitted her perfectly. "I'm glad to have it," she murmured. "Thank you."

"I only wish that was all in the coffer," Arianne sighed. "I still don't know what to make of that letter…" She very carefully set a bowl of the creamy stew in front of Rhaenys; she had filled it to the brim. "Do you think the child lives?"

 _Yes. I dreamt him._ But Rhaenys took a spoonful of stew into her mouth and shrugged. 

"Well, it matters not. By Dornish law, the throne is rightfully yours."

Rhaenys swallowed the hot stew-- it did well to whet her appetite. "Westeros is not Dorne," she pointed out, taking another spoonful. 

"Then by the laws of sense, the throne is rightfully yours," Arianne declared with a sunlit smile. "Look at all you've done thus far, all the people who fight in the name of Rhaenys Targaryen. No one would forsake you for some bastard they never knew existed." 

No one could have easily been anyone. Rhaenys reached for a slice of the oatbread. "Well, Rhaegar seemed willing to forsake Aegon for a bastard son," she muttered, tearing a smaller chuck from the bread to dip it into the heavy stock of cream and butter. _Unless…Rhaegar succeeded to annul his marriage to Elia…_

Arianne shook her head in disgust. "That fucking prick," she hissed. "If Oberyn ever finds out, he would find a way to return Rhaegar to life so he could kill him himself." She took a long sip of the wine. "Enough of Rhaegar. Tell me about your children." She then smiled into her wine cup. " _Your_ children…gods, what a wonderful thing to say."

Rhaenys tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling as much as her cousin was. "They're more perfect that I ever could have dreamed of." 

Arianne curved her fingers into her palm, brushing her knuckles softly against Rhaenys' cheek. "I'm glad you have them, and that Robb is their father," she said. "You must bring them to Sunspear when they are older, the Water Gardens most of all. I trust your wolf to bare the heat silently."

Rhaenys remembered the white raven that came to Sunspear. "I think by then, it will be a bit colder."

\---

Sunlight poured into the chamber, gracing all that it touched with a warm golden glow. The bright light urged Rhaenys awake, and made her wonder if the last night's storm had all been a dream. She pulled herself up against the pillows, careful to not disturb Arianne, whom she had been nestled into the entire night-- reminiscent of the days when Rhaenys was a little girl in Sunspear, stricken by nightmares and running to seek safety in her cousin's chambers. But if she any nightmares that night, Rhaenys couldn't remember them-- but her own worry-wrought thoughts had served in their place. She stared out the window, watching as pine trees rattled and waved in the wind. Beside her, Arianne began to stir from beneath the thick woolen blanket they shared, yawning as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. "Slept well, little dragon?" She murmured sleepily.

"Better than most days." 

Arianne hitched herself up and closer to Rhaenys. "Jon Snow was sweet enough to explain the battle plans and all to me." She rested her head upon Rhaenys' shoulder. "He may as well have written victory upon the parchments."

Rhaenys pressed her cheek to the crown of Arianne's head. "Nothing is ever so simple."

Arianne sighed. "Well...I know that now." She gazed at her with sad dark eyes. "If it were, then Gerold Dayne would have been the loyal knight I took him for…"

"You didn't know."

Before Arianne left the prince's chambers, she picked out a dress for Rhaenys-- an old gown of a deep burgundy velvet overdress, with snowy white skirts underneath. After she dressed, Rhaenys made her way down the stairs, but stopped abruptly when she saw who was waiting at the bottom. He was staring out the great window that overlooked the sea. "Queen Rhaenys," Petyr Baelish greeted warmly, peering up at her with a wide smile. "I'm glad to see you've returned."

Rhaenys' fingers curled against the stone balustrade, her steps hesitating as she did. "Lord Baelish," she uttered, continuing down the stairs to stand next to the Lord of the Vale. _It wasn't Baelish_ , Jon had said. But yet, Rhaenys knew that Littlefinger was no friend of hers. The lord had abandoned his watch of the world beyond the window, his gaze now fixed upon Rhaenys as he stroked his pointed beard. 

"A true woman of duty you are, my queen," he grinned. "I may as well speak for all when I say how truly grateful we are." He bowed his head, as if paying her homage. "It takes an exceptional kind of bravery for a mother to leave her children." Rhaenys mustered a small smile. She hated his eyes-- grey-green things that seemed to betray any true warmth of him. Had they always been so?

"Prince Eddard and Princess Elia…how are they, my queen?"

"Wonderful," Rhaenys replied. "Their grandmother shall take good care of them while i'm away."

Something about Baelish changed. His eyes seemed sad, but yet they yearned. "Cat," he said, almost sighed. "How is she?"

"The Freys had all but maddened her, but luck had it that she was always a strong woman."

He chuckled. "Gods, how well I know." 

And Rhaenys knew how well Littlefinger claimed to know things. At once, she was taken back to the day she had challenged him to whether he knowingly sold Sansa to a man so murderous and wild. Folly is may have been, but she could not help but challenge him once again; Catelyn Stark had long been a mother to her. "So you knew nothing about Lady Catelyn's survival?" 

Lord Baelish gazed at her. "If I had, my queen," he said, his voice dangerously low. "I promise you, she would have returned home some moons ago." Perhaps he had taken offense at her question. A sly smile played at his lips before it slackened. "I am quite sorry about Ser Gerold Dayne," he then remarked. "I would have never believed that a knight of Dorne would have been the one to betray you." 

Rhaenys forced a brave smile. "I shall deal with him before the day is done."

"And Daenerys Stormborn? What of her?"

"Lord Baelish, there is only one true ruler of Westeros, and she is standing before you."

Littlefinger smiled again, grim to express his concern. "Daenerys seems to think that you are not fit to rule in your family's name." 

Rhaenys brave face faltered as she frowned. Daenerys gave no hints to such a thing last night, especially after she apologized for calling her a false dragon. "There shall be repercussions," Lord Baelish warned. "Stay vigilant, my queen. A blind eye shall do you little good, and may very well cost you everything. Kinsblood is still only blood, and can be spilt when need be."

Rhaenys stared at him in disbelief. "Are you suggesting that it may come to _murdering_ my aunt?"

"Your Grace, you've everything you had ever wanted. A family. A husband returned to you. Children. Would you not do what you must to protect them, most of all?" 

"My lord, I will only do what _I_ think is right." 

It then occurred to Rhaenys, that Petyr Baelish knew her weaknesses too well. 

\---

After they had all broken their fast, Rhaenys called for a council in the Chamber of the Painted Table, to discuss the taking of King's Landing, the day of which was drawing quite near. Months of letters were finally sewn together over maps of the crownlands and King's Landing, which were were strewn across the massive one of Westeros. Gathered at the painted table were the men and women fated to bring the war's end to life. Even Daenerys watched and listened from across the table, only there because Rhaenys asked it of her, and she wearily obliged. 

Some time ago, the naval siege the Lannisters had attempted abruptly ended after Asha laid assault upon them and seized three of their ships. Three more vessels to her name and her share of the Iron Fleet. Only a few days ago, Asha left to see them all to Driftmark, where the houses of the Narrow Sea were gathering their own ships. Theon, Wylla, and Quentyn had gone with her, as well as some men of the Golden Company. Stannis Baratheon had also left the island some time ago, to join Lord Velaryon's conquest in the eastern crownlands. 

"Lady Asha's forces shall draw out the first of the gold cloaks and the royal fleet," Jon explained, drawing his finger across a large map of the city. He then traced a line from Blackwater Bay to a large forest. "Meanwhile, some of our men will land closer to the Kingswood, and storm this eastern River Gate," 

"I assure you my lords and ladies," Tyrion spoke. "That it shall go better than when Stannis Baratheon stormed those very gates." 

Many smiled with amusement, but Olenna Tyrell's mouth was pressed in a hard line. "Is this plan just a repeat of the Battle of the Blackwater?" She asked, her eyebrow raised. 

"All but," Rhaenys answered her. "Robb is to lay siege upon the city two days before we arrive. Then his men will storm the Dragon Gate while Lord Stannis' takes the Iron Gate, before they all convene at the foot of Aegon's Hill." She pressed her fingertip to a piece of the thick red line that enclosed the plat of King's Landing; the city's wall. Where her fingertip rested was a point quite close to Aegon's High Hill, where the Red Keep rose. "Sonaral will destroy this section of the wall, so that Jon and Prince Oberyn can lead their men to the castle." 

Rhaenys glanced up from the maps, glad to see that everyone, even Lady Olenna, appeared heartened. "My queen," Lord Varys spoke. "Long have I wondered... will Cersei have the chance to surrender?"

What would anyone expect her to say? No, of course, but Rhaenys had long decided how she wanted to see Cersei to her end. "A fortnight after I had given birth," she spoke. "A raven came from King's Landing. Cersei had summoned me to her court, to bend the knee or suffer the fate of a traitor. I intend to answer her at long last, just before she and her family pay for all they had done to mine."

Lord Vary's smiled the smile that many did when they were pleasantly right about something-- or someone. 

After Rhaenys ended the council, she called out to a guardsmen. "Take Gerold Dayne to the throne room. Tell him he's to stand trial for treason." As the guard went away with the rest of the dispersing council, she turned to her good-brother. "Jon, can I speak with you?" He nodded, carefully gathering the maps and drawings in a neater pile.

"About what?" He asked, as Rhaenys helped him.

"Daenerys," she said. Once they were finished, she returned to her seat, and Jon took the chair next to her. "Littlefinger believes her to be a threat."

Jon gave her an odd look. "And you believe Littlefinger?" He asked wryly.

"I would hate to, but do you think I should?" Rhaenys folded her hands upon her lap. "During the days since Daenerys came to Dragonstone, what did you make of her?" 

Jon rested his arm at the edge of the painted table, as he contemplated all he could of Daenerys Targaryen. "She is no fool," he remarked. His gaze returned to Rhaenys'. "Daenerys has seen and spoken to all those who have pledged their faith and trust in you. I think she knows her conquest is over. A bit more time should ease her of her pride."

"Pride," Rhaenys echoed. "After all she has suffered through, what else has she left but her pride?"

"You don't have to pity her."

"I don't."

"Good." Jon leaned forward in his seat, closer to her. "Now, perhaps you can tell me what _else_ is the matter."

Rhaenys furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?" 

"Rhae, i've known you since I was six years old. I know when something is bothering you." Jon placed his hand over hers, undoubtedly prepared to comfort her if need be. "What did Melisandre tell you last night?"

"I'll tell you when the time is right," she promised, easing her hand from his and rising from the chair. 

"When the time is…" Jon snorted, looking up at her. "Rhaenys, this is hardly the time for keeping secrets."

 _I'm trying to protect you._ "We've enough to deal with, Jon," she said stubbornly. "I have enough to deal with."

Then, outside the chamber, there was muffled gasp, quickly accompanied by a heavy thump, as though someone had fallen to the ground. Jon rose from the painted table, drawing his sword at once. Before either of them could call out, the door opened. The Darkstar Gerold Dayne-- and in his hand was a sword that was dripping blood. "You need better guards," he remarked offhandedly.

"What have you done?!" Rhaenys demanded, as Jon stepped protectively in front of her. 

Ser Gerold closed the door softly behind him, his voice smoother than silk. "A guardsman came down to my cell and said, by the queen's orders, I was to stand trial for treason. I found it rather amusing, so I thought to ask you about it myself." 

"There is nothing amusing about treason, Ser Gerold," Jon said angrily.

"Treason? For killing a Lannister?" The Darkstar's laughter rang out before he spoke to Rhaenys. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I thought that was why I left Dorne."

"You left Dorne to aid my cause, not to murder prisoners in the dark of a dungeon!" Ser Gerold's arch smile was quickly replaced with something more sinister. "Need I remind you that the punishment for treason is death, ser?"

His lip curled. "Need I remind you," he began mockingly. "That Princess Nymeria took Ser Davos Dayne for a husband? We are kin. Would you really want to add kinslayer to your noble titles?"

Rhaenys remembered another castle, another man, who had said the very same moments before he was beheaded. "Do not play that game with me," she hissed. "Why did you kill Lancel Lannister?"

"Someone had to."

"A boy's answer," Jon scoffed. "Is your thirst for blood truly so great, or did you bare steel in someone else's name?"

Ser Gerold smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know, Snow?"

The knight's arrogance nearly pressed Rhaenys to spit curses at him. "Stand down now, Ser Gerold!" She demanded. "And you shall see trial only for formality's sake."

Ser Gerold tightened his grip on the stolen sword. "So this is the Queen's justice," he remarked coldly. "She would see to her allies' death before that of her enemies'."

"You betrayed me! Your greed for your vendetta costed all of us!" Rhaenys chest ached with anger and grief. "Cletus Yronwood is dead because of you!"

"Besotted fool," Darkstar scoffed. "I never understood why, especially while knowing that northman defiled you."

Jon cursed at him, but Rhaenys couldn't find the breath to hurl her own choice words at the disgraced knight; when had she treated Gerold Dayne so ill that he decided to turn on her so suddenly and terribly? "That northman is your king!" She retorted. 

"And you are the whore that was sold to him!" Ser Gerold said cruelly. "Princess Elia would weep if she saw what those savage wolves did to her precious daughter."

"How dare you!" Rhaenys stormed, and Jon grabbed her arm to stop her from confronting the Darkstar herself. "I will see you punished for Cletus' death and the death of every innocent man who died because of your madness!"

"I have no plans to die today." Ser Gerold's dark eyes rested upon Jon. "What about your guard dog?" 

"I've none either, traitor," said Jon, prowling closer to Darkstar. 

_The most dangerous man in Dorne,_ Rhaenys recalled, and her blood ran cold. "Jon wait--"

"Final warning, Dayne," Jon snarled. Ser Gerold chuckled, and then he lunged; but Jon was quick, and the two crossed swords. 

"I was weaned on venom, Jon Snow," the Darkstar hissed. "Any wolf that takes a bite of me will rue it." He lashed out again, viper-quick and just as deadly, but Jon parried, the edge of his steel catching Gerold's cheek. Ser Gerold spat at him, slashing with his sword. Jon wove between the strikes before knocking the sword from Darkstar's hand. As the sword fell with a sharp clatter, Rhaenys saw the glint of a dagger in the Darkstar's hand; it quickly disappeared when he thrusted it into Jon's middle. 

" _NO!_ " She shrieked, frozen with horror as the Darkstar wrenched the steel away, only to plunge it back through Jon's side. Before the turncloak could even think of bleeding Jon's heart, Rhaenys threw herself at him, knocking them both to the ground. Her hand went for the dagger, but Gerold caught her wrist, painfully wrenching her up with him. "A bit of wisdom, little queen," his silk voice hissed in her ear. "If you wish to see the end of someone, you must destroy them root, branch, and stem." He let her fall to the floor, and just as he did, the door was stormed opened with a force that all but tore it from the hinges. 

But before Rhaenys knew it, the tip of a longsword bursted through the Darkstar's chest. "Perhaps you're right," Jon rasped, driving his steel deeper through Gerold Dayne. A terrible and familiar sound gurgled from the knight's throat, as spittle and blood frothed in his gaping mouth. His dark eyes went down to his bloodied chest, and then he was no more. Only then, did Jon drop his sword and fall onto his knees, heaving. 

Those who had rushed into the chamber were gasping and cursing at the sight. "I should have killed you when I had the chance," Rhaenys heard as Oberyn spat at Darkstar's corpse. She stumbled over to Jon, who was stanching his wounds with one wet red hand while the other was pressed to the stone floor to keep himself from falling over. "Jon!" she breathed, placing her hand over his, helping to stem the bleeding wounds. The feel of his hot blood seeping onto her hand made her dizzy from tears. 

Jon breathed deeply, wincing as he spoke. "It's…alright…Rhae." 

"Summon the maester!" Oberyn called out, as he and another man rushed over to help. He slung Jon's arm over his shoulder, gently easing him up. "You will live many more days, Jon Snow," he grunted, carefully leading him out the chamber. 

Still knelt upon the ground, Rhaenys just stared. Her eyes flitted to Gerold Dayne's corpse, then to the drops of Jon's blood that mottled the floor; then to the streaks of blood upon her hands. Why did it seem that those who loved her bled for it? "Rhaenys," a woman murmured, kneeling beside her. Her face was blurry behind a veil of tears, but Rhaenys could still see her silver hair. "Rhae…" Daenerys said softly. "He'll be alright."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey its me, ya friendly neighbor drama queen. 
> 
> Rhaenys: I have enough to deal with  
> Darkstar: DID SOMEBODY SAY THEY DIDNT HAVE ENOUGH TO DEAL WITH  
> Jon: well fuck 
> 
> This chapter went through so many rewrites.


	80. the queen's lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The snow-white skirts of Rhaenys' gown were streaked with red, as were the white sheets that dressed Jon's bed."

The snow-white skirts of Rhaenys' gown were streaked with red, as were the white sheets that dressed Jon's bed. Her fingers clutched his in a tight grip; Jon's hand was burning in hers. Rhaenys wasn't sure how many long hours had passed, but the fever came no less than an hour ago. Jon came in and out of wake, and sometimes he tarried in between-- the nimble work of milk of the poppy. From the bed's other side, Maester Dresden began to gently pry the stained bandages away from Jon's wounds. Rhaenys begged herself to not look; yet, she did, and the sharp breath she drew in at the sight of it felt like a sob. Though the maester had cleansed it with firemilk, stitched it close, and made his poultices, the harsh crimson gashes looked just as when they first saw it, if not worse. Even Dresden sighed sadly, chilling Rhaenys' blood from heart to vein. "The turncloak's dagger went deep," he murmured.

Rhaenys bit the inside of her cheek, watching as the maester unraveled another roll of cloth bandage. Suddenly, she felt Jon's hand twitch in hers. "Rhaenys?" He rasped, and his whole body shuddered as though he were drenched with icy water.

"I'm here," she said softly, leaning close to him.

Somehow, after hours of agony, he found a smile for her. "I'd so many dreams…" Jon murmured. "None made sense, but they all meant something to me…" He clenched his jaw and shuddered again, his fingers digging into Rhaenys' skin. Despaired, Rhaenys looked back to the maester, who was poulticing the wound again before he binding it; but she knew hopelessness when she saw it.

"How deep did the dagger go?" She asked dully.

Maester Dresden spoke, and he spoke with such sorrow. "The steel…it very likely punctured his innards. If so, they bleed as well. If he survives the night…each one after may prove a slow torture." He gathered his spools of bandages and pouches of dried herbs. "I've done all in my might, Your Grace. His gods watch him now." Rhaenys bowed her head over hers and Jon's joined hands. She barely heard when the maester uttered his leave. "Pardon me, Your Grace. I shall fetch more of the milk."

Rhaenys felt as a familiar creature of heartache began to build another home in her heart. _He's dying_ , the creature said vilely. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry…"

"Don't be." Jon shivered violently, his eyes half-closed.

"Rest," Rhaenys said gently, sweeping a dark curl from his damp brow. Within her was a faint sense of hope that refused to yield. "The maester will bring more milk of the---"

"No more of that," Jon rasped. The way he looked at her, it was so sad and familiar. "It won't matter now…"

The words sank, boring into her like knives. "You can't," she whimpered, as though the choice was hers to make. "Jon, you're not going to die."

He gazed up at her as his thumb circled over her knuckles. "I don't know the price of a kingdom... but you have to accept whatever it is, Rhae….it's the only way you can win."

"I won't accept this."

Jon chuckled, wincing as he did. "You're so stubborn…. are you sure the red god brought you back... or did you curse at death until it got tired of you?"

At death's door, and yet he found a moment to tease her. Rhaenys smiled, but just as well, she was crying. She knew she loved Jon Snow, the little brother that Aegon never grew to be and much more, but in that hour, she realized just how much she did. "We have to go home, Jon," she told him. "You, me, and Robb….Ned and Elia will be at Winterfell, waiting to meet you. Arya will be waiting too, with Sansa and Rickon. If Bran hasn't found his way back home, we'll go find him. We can be a family again."

Jon smiled at that, but something in his dark grey eyes changed. "Give them all a kiss for me…"

Dread rushed cold and biting through Rhaenys. She shook her head, tears speckling the sheets and their hands. _No, please. Gods, don't take him from me._ "Let me get the maester--" She started, but with the last of his strength, Jon gripped her hand, keeping her with him. The rise and fall of his chest was growing faint. His voice had become very pale.

"It's alright, Rhae…"

He closed his eyes and became very still.

Rhaenys was still clutching his hand when others began to rush into the room, having heard her sobbing. Someone gently grasped her trembling shoulder. "Rhaenys," Arianne murmured, her voice heavy and sad. "He's gone." She reached down to take Rhaenys' hand from Jon's lifeless one.

"No…" Rhaenys whimpered. "He…can't be."

"Little dragon, there's nothing left you can do." Arianne tried to urge her from the bed, out of the room, away from the sight of Jon's dead body, but Rhaenys began to wrest from her cousin, growing fraught.

"HE CAN'T BE DEAD!"

Someone ran over to them, and Rhaenys felt a gentle but yet stronger hand guide her from the chamber. A few were gathered in the corridor-- Tyrion, Lord Varys, Littlefinger, Daenerys-- but the last thing Rhaenys cared about was a queen's dignity. She heard Oberyn speak her name, and she pried herself from his embrace, as anger tourneyed with grief. "I already lost one brother, now i've lost another!" Rhaenys wailed, pacing back and forth in her distress. Her bastard good-brother, solemn, watchful, sweet, loyal... and dead. "Haven't I lost enough?!"

"The treacherous work of Gerold Dayne!" Petyr Baelish decreed. "But he is dead, my queen--"

"What does it matter if Jon is dead too?!" Rhaenys spat. "That traitor came to the Painted Table seeking blood! He started the fight!" Her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms. "How do we know he wasn't plotting with Cersei?!"

An accusation that seemed fair enough, but Arianne and even Oberyn appeared doubtful. "Darkstar was attested to hate the Lannisters with a fury," Arianne remarked. "What reason would he have to betray us for them now?"

"He was called the most dangerous man in Dorne for a reason!" Rhaenys glanced upon them all, baffled; it could not have been more obvious. "It's a waste of time to discuss what happens in the hearts and minds of treacherous men!"

"Your Grace," Tyrion spoke. "I know you're upset, but you cannot leap to groundless conclusions that will only grant you more unrest--"

"If you're worried about my peace of mind, Lord Tyrion, you're nineteen years too late!"

At one end of the corridor, several guardsmen were yelling. Oberyn had begun to draw his sword, but Rhaenys recognized the white streak of fur. "Just leave him!" She screeched, and Ghost ran past them and into the room where Jon was. Once silence settled again, Rhaenys quietly remarked: "Sonaral can melt more than just shielding walls." She was greeted with stunned silence.

"You'll risk destroying the city," murmured Lord Varys.

"Just the Red Keep…" Rhaenys said. "My enemies are in the Red Keep."

"The dragonfire will spread," Tyrion uttered. "There are more innocent lives in King's Landing than guilty ones. Tens of thousands, at the least. You made certain that our plan saw no harm to as much of the smallfolk as possible."

Rhaenys' gaze fell away from him. She tearfully looked to Jon's chambers. Before the moon rose, her good-brother would be as cold as stone, whiter than lilies. Then between the throes of grief, she remembered something. _He doesn't have to be_. "Get Melisandre!" She cried out.

\---

The door shut quietly behind them, and the red woman's forlorn face rested upon Jon's corpse. She sighed softly, sadly, looking over her shoulder to Rhaenys. "What are you asking of me?"

Rhaenys came away from the door, wringing her hands anxiously. "Can you bring him back?" She asked. "I know of the way. The last kiss."

Melisandre furrowed her dark brow. "I know of it as well. It should not be possible."

"But it is." Rhaenys glanced down at the ground. Her eyes found Ghost, who was lying at the foot of the bed. He looked to be sleeping. "Melisandre…Robb and I did not survive the Red Wedding. Walder Frey and Roose Bolton wanted us both dead, and they succeeded." She glanced up at the red priestess, who looked about as confused as she expected her to be. "Thoros of Myr return me to life with the last kiss, as Beric Dondarrion did with Robb." Rhaenys saw it-- the look of awe and the touch of fright came to Melisandre's pale face. "I may not worship your god, but I believe in the power He gives."

It was all the proof that Melisandre should have needed. Yet and yet, she hesitated. "Queen Rhaenys," she murmured softly in her Asshai accent. "I have no such power."

"Have you ever tried?"

"Would the Lord of Light entrust me with such great power? I've already misread His will countless times. No knight would gift a novice living steel."

"You risked returning to Dragonstone because you believed in something!" Out of her growing desperation, Rhaenys accepted the will of the red god, as spoken to her by both Melisandre and Thoros-- but only because Jon Snow had a part in it, and for that, he'd have to be alive. "You said you saw Jon in your fires!" Thoros had told her that his god choose to return her to the living world only because she was fated for a greater purpose. "It's not his time! It's not his time, and you know that!"

Melisandre gave her a sad smile."I know Jon Snow meant much to you, my queen, and I have no desire to grieve you further should I fail."

"I'm not asking you to succeed. I'm asking you to try."

Melisandre hesitated for a second time, but she strode over the basin of water that remained idle upon a table. After soaking and wringing out a cloth, she knelt beside Jon and removed the bandages, cleansing the wounds of the poultices while speaking Valyrian under her breath. When she was done, Melisandre laid her open palm over his heart, speaking louder, a bit braver, and her words turned to song. **"We ask the Lord to shine his light, and lead a soul out of darkness…we beg the Lord to share his fire, and light a candle that has gone out…from darkness, light..from ashes, fire...from death, life."** At the song's end, Melisandre bowed her head, and pressed a kiss to Jon's lips. When she lifted her head, Rhaenys heard her whisper in Common Tongue: _please_.

They stared at him, desperately waiting for something, anything. A shudder. A breath. A heartbeat-- but Jon remained ever so still.

Melisandre's hand fell away from his chest, trembling. Her head hung heavily over him, still searching for a sign of life. Then, she turned to Rhaenys; perhaps she thought to say something, but the words never came. Yet, Rhaenys bowed her head to her, grateful either way-- the red woman did not seem so terrible anymore.

Rhaenys kept a distance from the bed until she heard the door open and close. She let out a quiet sob, inching closer to her good-brother. Even in death, Jon looked solemn. She pressed her fingertips over his heart-- quiet as stone, there was nothing. Rhaenys lowered her head to kiss his cold brow. "Good-bye, Jon," she murmured.

\---

Rhaenys only returned to her chambers to rid herself of the bloodied gown, dropping it into the ashes of the cold hearth. She donned the first dress her hand grabbed from the chest-- a high collared thing of dark red wool--and threw a shawl of grey wool and fur over her shoulders. When Rhaenys left the room, she took a longer way to downstairs, keeping to shadows like the miserable wraith she felt like. They would want to speak with her, soothe her with words of sympathy and grief; but really, all Rhaenys wanted was to be left alone. Meleys the cat, who followed her out to the cold of Aegon's Garden, was as much company Rhaenys would relent to.

The garden had gone through much change since her last visit there. The brushes were all barren of life; only wilted leaves, spiny thorns, and blackened petals were left. Rhaenys' skirts stirred the dried dead things as she treaded deeper along the marble path. Within the wildness of the massive garden, she came to what she was seeking-- a lone summerhouse that rose from dragonstone. Years and years of creepers had claimed the outside of the structure. At its center, atop the domed roof, was a stone dragon unfurling its wings, its face staring towards the open sea. The benches within were black marble, streaked with milky veins, cold to the touch and meant to be soothing during the hot summertime. Upon one of the benches, Rhaenys could spot the sea from between the towering pines, and the orange ripples that the sun's dying light casted upon the waters.

The cat leapt onto her lap, purring, but Rhaenys found it hard to draw comfort from the sweet little creature. She sat in cold and silence and tears, listening to the pine trees rustle in the wind and the waters rush against the cliffs. She didn't feel numb, like she did when she thought Robb was dead, when life felt blurry at its many edges. Now, she felt everything. It was a strange contrast-- like ice and fire.

The night soon drew a chilly cloak over Dragonstone. Not long after the darkness fell, Rhaenys spotted a flicker of light, and it showed brighter as it ambled towards her. She heard the soft boot steps upon the marble. Then, at the mouth of the summerhouse, Daenerys stood, holding a lantern that washed her face with a warm glow. "Rhae…" She hesitated. "I know you want to be alone…but I rather you weren't." She stepped into the summerhouse. "You shouldn't be alone during a terrible time."

Her breath ragged from weeping, Rhaenys took a deep breath. "I've grown so use to it," she murmured, rather than asking her to go away.

Daenerys came closer, sitting next to her and setting the lantern beside herself. "I'm sorry you did." She glanced down and smiled warmly when she saw the cat. "Viserys said were fond of cats," she said. "He spoke of a little black kitten you had."

"Balerion," Rhaenys said, before looking down at the bundle of red fur. "This one is Meleys."

"I know… Jon told me…" Rhaenys felt Daenerys' shoulder brush against hers. "Rhaenys... I am so sorry. He was a good man. I'm glad you had him for a brother."

"I've known Jon for so long…I don't know what i'll do without him..."

"I hadn't seen him smile until yesterday," Daenerys remarked. "When he saw you. Were you both always so close?"

Rhaenys returned to the summer days when Ned Stark's bastard was still a boy, and his Targaryen ward still a girl. "I think we both felt...out of place…and I think we shared a comfort in knowing that the other felt the same way."

"Out of place?" Daenerys echoed. "How so?"

Rhaenys had never confessed such a thing to anyone, not even Robb. She never felt need too-- there was naught that she could have done about it, especially since she was a ward at Winterfell for a reason. "I was too Dornish for Aerys' liking... but in Dorne, I never felt Dornish enough. Then I went to Winterfell…and I never felt so strange in my life."

"And Jon?"

"I suppose bastards don't stir much of a fuss in Essos... here they are a lord's shame, said to be born from lust, lies, and weakness….said to grow to be treacherous and wicked. Jon had bore that shame his entire life, and in Winterfell, he was reminded of it quite often…" Rhaenys bit her lip, reminded of her promise to Lady Catelyn to call Jon a Stark for all to hear.

"Jon Snow was no man to be ashamed of, that is for certain," said Daenerys. "And you, Rhaenys, are truly the blood of the dragon, no matter my father's scorn." She wove her fingers into Rhaenys', her amethyst eyes shining in the lantern's light. "We are going to put an end to the Lannisters' tyranny, together…and you shall be crowned queen before the Iron Throne at last."

Through misery, Rhaenys was bewildered. Had she heard her aunt right? "What…what about those who followed you all this way…. to see you to the throne?" She asked.

Daenerys smiled sadly. "They'll come to know who you are, and who you are meant to be."

Rhaenys stared at her. To think that very morning, she had asked Jon if he thought that Daenerys was a threat to her-- he was right, in the end. Her eyes burning with new tears, Rhaenys reached out to Dany and hugged her tightly.

\---

When she asked, Rhaenys was told by a serving girl that Lord Tyrion had already gone up to his solar. She then made her way through the Stone Drum, coming before Tyrion's door with an apology. Her Hand had taken an early supper, though his crab stew remained untouched. His wine cup, however, was well secured in his grip. "I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier," Rhaenys told him. "That was rash…i'd be no better than Aerys if thought to burn an entire city and its people to ashes."

"Your Grace," Tyrion began. "From what I know and don't know about Aerys, you are, in fact, the furthest person from him."

"That's reassuring." Misery had her tongue and fogged her mind. Rhaenys wrapped the shawl tighter around her. "Daenerys told me that she's renouncing her claim…" She finally said. "She's going to help us."

"Oh…some good news, at last."

A second dance avoided, yet neither of them seemed as relieved as they should have been. "The direwolf refuses to leave his master's side," Tyrion told her. "He's already snapped at a few who entered the chamber."

"Let him grieve for the night," Rhaenys said quietly. "Tomorrow…we can... make arrangements…." She thought of the letter she had to write, to Sansa and Rickon. She thought of Arya, whose excitement to see her half-brother again had no words. She thought of Robb, who would be the last to know, as she had to tell him herself. "He should go back to Winterfell to be with his father."

Tyrion looked to her regretfully, and Rhaenys knew near to exact what he was about to say then: "As great a man Jon Snow was, he was still a bastard."

Rhaenys glanced down at her wrung hands. Everything about Jon was of the North. His bravery, his loyalty, his solemn smile, his look. He was no true Stark, but she could have never told the difference anyway. "My lord, if not for Jon, the Boltons would still be ruling the North. He won that battle. Sansa would attest. Robb would agree."

Tyrion sighed. "Perhaps we could spare a ship to take him, then." He downed the contents of his goblet. "He loved you like a sister and you loved him like a brother," he then remarked, placing his empty cup upon the table. He showed no desire to refill it. "You should get some rest, Your Grace. These coming days won't be any easier on your heart. I can ask the maester to bring you something to help you sleep."

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion."

\---

Rhaenys sat at the edge of her bed, lost in mournful thought as she toyed with her mother's citrine ring. No sooner had she pulled on a woolen bedgown, Arianne came into her chamber, wanting to speak with her about Jon, but Rhaenys had her heart's fill of spoken grief. Arianne understood, and kissed her cheek before retiring to her chambers.

As Rhaenys twisted the ring anxiously around her finger, her thumb caught the edge of the amber. To her surprise, the bezel slightly parted from the ring as if a hinged lid. Rhaenys furrowed her brow, and continued to lift it-- there was nothing beneath but a tiny hollowed out place. She pulled the ring from her finger at once, staring at it in dismay as she realized what it was. Her cousin Tyene had a ring just like that one, adorned with a sapphire to match her eyes. A poisoner's ring, a gift from her father.

For what reason did Elia have to possess a poisoner's ring?

A knock upon the door nearly caused Rhaenys to drop the ring, and she quickly hid it beneath her pillow. "Come in," she called out, and Maester Dresden entered with a cupful of dreamwine for her.

"I've added some honey, to make it easier to swallow," he told her. Rhaenys took the cup, thanking him for it and all he had done for Jon. She drank the draught, indeed grateful for the honey. The wine did its work rather quickly, and before she could further wonder about the ring or dwell upon her grief, Rhaenys fell into a deep sleep. Despite the name, the dreamwine granted her no dreams.

It was dawn when she woke. Nothing seemed to had woken her, but she felt very strange. She thought she heard a wolf howl, but the only wolves upon Dragonstone were a silent one...and a dead one. Meleys was at the foot of the mattress, her ears pricked towards the door. She growled at nothing, the fur along her hackles raising.

Rhaenys lifted the blankets off herself, planting her bare feet onto the cold stone floor. It seemed to leech the warmth from her. Her dressing gown was somewhere in the room, but she could not have been bothered to look for it. In only her bedgown, Rhaenys left the chambers, quietly treading through the halls for no reason other than the strange feeling she felt. Before long she was staring at the doors of Jon's chambers, holding her breath as she listened at the door. Her heart panted against her chest when she heard someone breathing heavily. Ghost had never made a sound, not ever. Rhaenys' trembling hands fumbled at the door's handle in her haste to open it.

Jon Snow was sitting upon the bed's edge, wide-eyed and terribly confused; shaking and gasping, his hand brushed over the wounds that killed him.

His face lashed towards the opened door, to Rhaenys. At once, he staggered from the bed. He stumbled, but Rhaenys got to him in time to catch him, and ease him back upon the mattress. Jon was shaking, choking for breath as if he had forgotten how to breath. His hands felt clammy as he clutched Rhaenys' tightly. "It's alright, Jon," Rhaenys whispered, joyous tears rolling down her face. Ghost watched with great red eyes that seemed to burn like embers in the dark.

"Rhaenys…" His quivering hand came to her face, skimming against her wet cheek to make sure she was real. "Rhaenys…I died….I shouldn't be here..."

"Melisandre brought you back," she told him, curling her fingers around his wrist. "Like how I was brought back."

Jon glanced away from her, looking to Ghost, looking to the door that Rhaenys had left open. Soon enough, someone would discover the two of them huddling together; they would see that the dead man had returned to life. The grief that the castle shared for their queen would turn to awe, fright, something in between or entirely different. Perhaps they would wonder if the red woman, whose company that the queen had so suddenly urged for, had all to do with it. Until then, however, Rhaenys felt as Jon wrapped his arms around her; she pressed her cheek to his shoulder, weeping as the warmth began to return to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 80! Also, thank you for the 1000+ kudos!! Never thought i'd get this far. 
> 
> There was no point spending more than one chapter on Jon's death since it seem pretty obvious what was going to happen, so why beat around the bush.


	81. kinsblood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The dragon has three heads, and they were all together at last. Rhaenys had no excuse to doubt Melisandre's words now."

Dragonstone's throne room was enormous, with great tapering windows that allowed the light in, bathing the black stones with bright sunlight. Etched around the high ceiling were dragons, soaring around the room and watching those below with great slitted eyes. The floors were black marble, veined with milk white; at one end of the hall, it smoothly pleated into a row of six stairs. At the top of the stairs was the high seat, carved from dragonstone. If the castle itself was said to be cut and hewed with the hands of sorcery, the throne was no exception. At the arms were dragon heads, with rubies for eyes. Along the back and top of it were crests and frills, much like those upon a living dragon's spine. Behind the seat was a massive slab of tapering black stone, furrowed and jagged. It resembled the crags that the castle was raised upon-- what the island used to be before the Targaryens made their home there.

The magnificent chamber saw little use those days. Rhaenys, however, decided to call her council there, to see an end to the ill rumors that had replaced the castle's shared grief for Jon Snow. 

That dawn, Maester Dresden had gone to Jon's room, no doubt with the expectation of preparing a cold corpse for rest-- what he saw instead paled his skin, and he had to grip the edge of the door to steady himself. Rhaenys left Jon to help the old maester to a seat, just as Melisandre entered the chamber herself, her own eyes wide, looking to Jon, then Rhaenys, then back to Jon. _There was nothing…_ Jon had whispered when the red woman asked for what he had seen. _Nothing at all._

After Dresden spent a moment stumbling over breath and words, he insisted that he was well enough to go about his duty. After entrusting Jon in the maester's trembling hands, Rhaenys returned to her own chambers, to prepare for what was surely to be a weary day. She donned an old but lovely gown of woven smoke grey wool, embroidered around the collar and sleeves with lavender flowers and silver vines and leaves. She fastened a silver chain of a small moonstone teardrop at her neck, and slipped her mother's citrine ring upon her finger, making sure its bezel was shut tight. 

How many would accept Jon's resurrection for what it was? Of course, they would all want to know how such an impossible thing it came to be. Especially those in a queen's council. Melisandre was already at the centerfold of those ill rumors; she had already been whispered to be a witch, but to bring a man back from the dead? Queen Rhaenys, who had asked for the red witch's company moments after her bastard good-brother took his last breath; was she no stranger to magic, dark and blood? And Jon Snow…had be become more wraith than man?

After breaking her fast on hot crusted bread and freshly-churned butter, Rhaenys seated herself at the high seat, watching as those of her chosen council entered into the chamber. She folded her hands upon her lap, her face solemn. Some of them had witnessed her outburst, her wayward accusation about Gerold Dayne, and a brief willingness to rain dragonfire upon King's Landing. Tyrion and Daenerys, they knew her heart well enough, as did Arianne and Oberyn. But it was the strangers that worried her-- Littlefinger, Lord Varys, Lady Olenna. Rhaenys had to remind them that she was strong of heart; and of mind. 

"I''ve called you all here to put hearsay to rest," said Rhaenys. "Whatever you wish to say, speak and be done with it."

Lord Varys spoke first. His voice was soft as falling snow, but his plump face hid no misgivings; he was not happy. "My queen, even before we met, I knew you were a woman who would do anything to protect the ones she loved. Some would call that your greatest strength. Many would say it is your greatest weakness. But to resort to bloodmagic…i'm afraid you strayed into a dangerous place."

The eunuch was quick to place a name to what had been done. Bloodmagic was said the darkest kind of sorcery; some said the most powerful as well. Rhaenys never had a thought to what fed the miracles she had seen and borne. Now, it was all plain to her; and she strangely wasn't bothered by it. "The world hadn't seen a dragon in over a hundred years," she said. "And now there are four of them. Haven't you ever wondered how?"

At Varys' side was Littlefinger, who donned a smile the moment he entered the chamber. His grey-green eyes occasionally flitted around the room, searching through faces and waiting for them to reveal something. Now, his eyes were fixed upon Daenerys, watching her as she watched Rhaenys. "It shouldn't be much of a surprise if bloodmagic returned dragons to us," Baelish said. "All Valyrian sorcery was said to be rooted in blood or fire. Ofttimes, both." _What is he looking for?_ Rhaenys wondered, when Littlefinger's eyes came to rest upon her once more. "That said," he continued. "It would be for better if all this remained upon Dragonstone. We wouldn't want Westeros to think their queen shares the close company of witches and sorcerers." 

"Or if she is one of them?" Olenna Tyrell asked him dryly, boldly. She must have known Littlefinger during her time in the Lannisters' court, well enough to read more subtle things between his supposed concerns. 

Still smiling, Baelish answered her while continuing to gaze upon at Rhaenys. "If I may say, Your Grace. Both Nymeria and Visenya were whispered to have dabbled in their share of sorcery, and you are the blood of both, after all. Conclusions may be drawn."

"Be it as it may," Rhaenys remarked. Half the realm had said many things about her, and she knew that wasn't likely to stop even when she sat on the Iron Throne. "I have no desire to play a god's game, or to rule over death," she told them. "Do not take this for a precedent."

"Well, what does it matter now?" Lady Olenna remarked. "Jon Snow is alive. If it bothers you all so much, then you will have to kill him." She looked to Rhaenys. "And I very much doubt the queen would tolerate a second murder of the Young Wolf's half-brother."

"It happened, and for that, I am grateful," Arianne then said. "You've all seen how good and loyal Jon Snow has been to my cousin and her cause." 

Melisandre had been closer to the great doors, a bit away from the gathered council. But she began to ease away from the shadows and began to speak. "The Lord of Light allowed Jon Snow to come back for a reason," she insisted. Her tone was stronger than the day before, fortified by her faith in her god, braver in knowing that He had not given up on her. "If not for a reason, then Jon would still be as cold and still as stone."

"For what reason would that be, my lady?" Baelish asked. 

"I no not, my lord, but I expect we shall soon enough."

The darkwood doors open with a sudden creak, and there stood Jon Snow. When he walked into the chamber, everything and everyone became still, his every presence commanding a weary silence. "Have I interrupted something?" He asked, his voice low, and as weary as the silence. Arianne approached him warmly, speaking something to him that caused him to smile bashfully. Oberyn follow her, as did Tyrion and Daenerys. Even Lady Olenna spared him a half-smile. Rhaenys rose from the high seat, smoothing out her skirts before she desended down the marble stairs, to where Varys and Baelish still stood. 

"He should not be alive," the Spider murmured to her. Littlefinger only stroked his pointed bread idly. 

"No…but i'm glad." Rhaenys remarked. 

"You have lost enough," Varys sighed, giving in. "I pray this is for the best. As Princess Arianne said, it happened. We carry on."

"Good."

The council had more or less ended, eventually leaving Rhaenys and Jon to an empty throne room. Feeling better than she had that early morning, Rhaenys sat upon the marble stair, a wordless gesture for Jon to join her. A beam of sunlight pleasantly washed over them. Jon looked around the high ceiling and the dragons that guarded it. "So you put this chamber to use at last," he remarked. 

"I needed regality more than ever. They thought you half-a-wraith and half-a-god." Jon chuckled, casting his gaze away from the stone and still dragons. "How do you feel?" Rhaenys asked him wearily. He looked alright, at the least. The same solemn face and dark grey eyes. 

"Not as dead," he replied.

"That was the intent."

That got another small smile out of him, which made Rhaenys grin as well. She could help but hug him again, so grateful to a red god for granting him a second chance. "I missed you so terribly," she said quietly. 

She felt as Jon stroked her hair. "Had it not been for the nothingness," he murmured. "I would have missed you too." He pulled away from her, smiling and solemn all the same. "Is that what you saw?"

Rhaenys nodded ruefully. She did not remember dying, but death itself was a fresh memory. "No pain, no peace... nothing." 

"I hope it's less then what Gerold Dayne got," Jon remarked darkly. "Why would he--"

"Forgot about him, Jon." 

The Darkstar betrayed them, but all the same, the Darkstar was dead and Jon was alive. Rhaenys was content. Jon bowed his head, saying no more about the disgraced knight for her sake. "At least Daenerys seems warmer today…unless I am mistaken."

"She bent the knee," Rhaenys said, sheepishly realizing he was the last to know. Indeed, Jon's brow furrowed as he stared at her. "Last night," she hastily added. "You were right…she needed a bit of time."

"And she needs you as much as you need her," said Jon. "That also proves that Baelish doesn't know what in the seven hells he's talking about." That was true. Lord Baelish seemed convinced that Daenerys posed a great threat, one great enough to consider kinslaying-- or perhaps he was only trying to convince Rhaenys of it. _He'll have me as paranoid as Aerys was,_ she thought darkly. _Perhaps i'll be better to have crows whisper in my ear than mockingbirds. At least I know that the crow is a liar._

"Rhaenys," Jon started, rousing her from a realm of thoughts. "How did Melisandre... bring me back?" 

She thought he would ask, sooner or later. "A song and a kiss."

"A kiss?" Jon repeated, stunned for some reason. "She kissed me?"

"It's called the last kiss."

"Oh..." 

"Why?" Rhaenys asked, growing amused. "Was it your first?"

Jon said nothing, but a blush came to his pale face. It was all an answer that Rhaenys needed, and she was rather surprised. Then, she burst into a fit of giggles.

"What?" He asked, already vexed. 

"You're a maid," she teased. Jon reddened again, reaching out to tug one of her curls, like he used to when they were children. "You are!" Rhaenys said breathlessly, swatting his hand away. "I just thought…." Jon was nearly nineteen, and she had known men and boys young and old who sneaked off into the godswood with a girl. Robb had taken her. Theon had taken a few. Even Jory had admitted to her one such experience. She certainly would have thought Jon to have taken part as well; and he wasn't unsightly in any way. "I know plenty of girls had fancied Robb." Ever since his fifteenth nameday, Rhaenys remembered-- Robb had drawn the gaze of many yearning girls in Winterfell. "I thought you were no different."

"No, that was always Robb," Jon mused. "In the back of my head, I always thought…what if I got a girl with child, another bastard named Snow? It's not a good life for any babe…I won't blame you if you don't understand."

Rhaenys thought she could have, but did she really? She was born a princess, lived as a high lady, and would die a queen. Her own children were as noble as could be, as would any other she would bear-- their lives would certainly be better than most. "Jon, you won back Winterfell. I won't let anyone forget that it was a bastard who saved the North." 

Jon smiled, bashful. "That seems like a bit more than what I did."

"Oh for gods' sake, Jon Snow," Rhaenys sighed, mildly exasperatedly. "You're a bloody hero, just accept it."

"Always the sweet girl," Jon chuckled.

\---

At the rear of the castle were sweeping moors that marged the great crags of the island. Leas of green and brown, all but trampled flat from the dragons who often ventured down from the sky and volcano to loll about there. Rhaenys and Jon thought to venture out there for want of fresh air, and they had run into Daenerys along the way. Finally, the two Targaryens had the chance to be aunt and niece. No more worrying about who was more rightful of an heir, or wondering if the one regarded the other with enmity.

"I'm no stranger to Lord of Light and his devotees," Daenerys remarked, as she and Rhaenys perched themselves atop slabs of broken dragonstone. Jon however, went a bit further, to where the dark silver and frost dragon lazed about. Daenerys' brood had left to hunt, so Sonaral had the soft grass of the moors all to herself. The four dragons had established peace among one another, so long as each one kept to their meal, and that none of three larger males did not try and mount the sole female. "There's a good number of them in Meereen, but I never thought them to have such a power over death. You knew about that?"

 _A bit too well,_ Rhaenys thought. "I know a red priest called Thoros, who six times brought a Dornish lord back from the dead."

"Six times?" Daenerys repeated, stunned. "Melisandre said the Lord only returns those for a reason. What was the Dornish lord's?"

 _To return a king..._ "I don't know…but I heard the lord is dead for good now."

"Then he must have fulfilled his rightful duty." In the far off distance, out at sea, they spotted a dragon, who Daenerys at once knew was Rhaegal, the green and bronze named for Rhaegar. Also out at sea were the scattered ships of the Iron Fleet, captained by Victarion Greyjoy, who remained aboard his _Iron Victory_. Daenerys planned to call him to land later that day, to tell him what had happened. "Lord Baelish was right…" She remarked. "Bloodmagic did return the dragons." 

Yet, Rhaenys would have rather if Baelish was left to his own speculations. "I've grown up hearing vile stories about bloodmagic. It's not a thing to boast about in any place."

The deep rumble of Sonaral's purring suddenly rose above the rush of the water. Dany looked on with a curious fascination as Jon stroked the dragon's snout. "Is she always so friendly?" She asked.

"Not with everyone." Rhaenys turned to look at her aunt's enthralled gaze. "Robb. My other good brother and sisters. Ned and Elia...Sonaral adores them...I think it pained her to leave them almost as much as it did me…" 

"You'll return to them soon," Daenerys promised. "The Lannisters wouldn't even the chance to know about them."

"No...I want them to know. Cersei, especially." Rhaenys would never forget the conversation she and Cersei had in Winterfell's great hall. It seemed strange that it even took place, back during a summertime when Rhaenys thought she was to be Lady of Winterfell someday. "This whole war started when Robert Baratheon went North. His Hand Jon Arryn had died, and he came to Winterfell to ask Lord Stark to replace Arryn, along with betrothing Joffery to Sansa."

"You've met the Usurper? Cersei as well?"

Rhaenys nodded, tucking a stray curl behind her ear; a cold wind had started to blow, causing the grass to sigh softly. "I will grant that Robert was no Joffery, but the skin of every monster is always his own. His was fleshy and reeked of wine. I reminded him of Rhaegar, but even he knew better than to curse me aloud for it within the walls of Winterfell. And Cersei... she did her duty of a king's consort, but even then…I never met a woman so cold, and I grew up in the North." Rhaenys hadn't realized she was digging her nails into the skin of her hand. "I became with child upon my wedding night, but as you know, that one was long lost. Cersei had asked me about it. Then she told me that the women of my line had trouble with their wombs as well…my grandmothers…my mother…I think she had hopes that my own womb would be tormented just the same."

"I'd expect nothing less from Cersei," Daenerys scorned. "But why make guised threats when you were living peacefully in the North?"

"A son of mine would've threatened her and Robert. Even after marrying Robb, Robert's fears were boundless." Surnames meant nothing to Robert Baratheon, it had seemed. In his mind, a Stark with a Targaryen mother was just as much dragonspawn as any Targaryen babe. Rhaenys sighed, reminding herself that Robert was no longer around to sneer at her and her children; although he would have been tame compared to the Lannisers'. "Well, I have my son and my daughter now." 

Dany smiled. "I'm sure there are more to come."

"Hopefully." Rhaenys, who had three true-born and eight bastard cousins, who grew up with the five Stark children, along with Jon and her fellow ward Theon, very much desired a large family of her own. "That being said, I am not a broodmare." She smiled wryly. "Don't rely upon me to rebuild our house all on my own."

Daenerys did not return the smile. "I can't have children," she revealed. 

There was no sadness in her voice, which meant she had long accepted it. In Meereen, she had told Rhaenys that her own unborn baby was lost. The seed of Khal Drogo, divined to be a son who she then named Rhaego-- but Rhaenys did not think that was the first and last babe her aunt would know. 

"Who told you that?" Rhaenys asked.

"The witch who killed my khal."

"I wouldn't be too keen to believe _her_."

Sonaral swept her head away from Jon, looking out towards the horizon. Jon hastily took a few steps back, just as the dragon kicked off from the ground, and the three of them watched as she flew away out to sea. "I swear, she's gotten bigger since I last saw her," Jon remarked, walking towards Rhaenys and Daenerys. 

"So long as they have enough food, dragons never stop growing," Dany told him. 

Jon contemplated that, perhaps along with the other three dragons out there. "Well…that's something to look forward to." He looked back to where Sonaral had gone. "Do you think Westeros is ready for them?"

"From the moment those dragons have been born, a new era dawned upon the world," said Daenerys. "One that we're going to leave a better place than we found it."

The dragon has three heads, and they were all together at last. Rhaenys had no excuse to doubt Melisandre's words now. _Maybe I should tell them_ , she thought, but before she could consider second guessing her decision, Jon's gaze darted pass them, watching as Lord Tyrion made his way down the soft slope of the moor. "A raven's come!" He called out breathlessly, holding out a scroll of parchment. "For Jon Snow, from Duskendale!" Once Tyrion reached the slab of dragonstone, Jon took the letter from him at once. Rhaenys saw the unfamiliar seal-- crossed warhammers in bright blue. "House Rykker," Tyrion told them, as Jon broke the wax.

"It's from Tristan Rivers," he said. Rhaenys recalled that the bastard outlaw from the Riverlands had gone with Lord Stannis to the Crownlands. 

"Stannis Baratheon is dead," Jon read grimly, and immediately, Rhaenys' heart sank into a pit in her belly. "Ambushed by Jaime Lannister and Randyll Tarly's men near Sow's Horn. Many were killed and captured. Davos Seaworth led the rest to Duskendale. It is only a matter of time before the Kingslayer follows. We need to move quickly."

Even after it all, Rhaenys felt a twinge of grief for Stannis Baratheon. The man who did after all murder his own brother for a crown. The same man who returned her wolf to her. For his changed heart and loyalty to her, she had thought to spare the block and have him take the black. Those plans were dust now-- as was some of those crucial to taking King's Landing. "If Jaime is in the Crownlands, then he means to take strongholds back from rebels," Tyrion remarked. "Which means our earliest plans of luring forces from the capital has indeed worked." He looked up to Rhaenys. "A bit of good tidings then, Your Grace."

"At the cost of Stannis Baratheon," Rhaenys said bitterly. "I'm not sure if you know, but Tywin gave Stannis' titles and lands to Lord Tarth of Evenfall Hall. We got word of it back in Riverrun."

"...I did not know that," Tyrion uttered.

"That means we lost the Stormlands," Jon sighed, reeling the letter back into a scroll. "If Selwyn Tarth is now Lord Paramount."

"We've still the stormlanders Ser Davos took to Duskendale," Tyrion insisted, doing his best to keep hope in the tragedy of losing an important ally. "Not to mention those with Jon Connington, and the few here on this island. We only have to deal with Lord Tarth once the Iron Throne is yours, Your Grace."

"Rhaenys, the Unsullied alone can replace the numbers lost," Daenerys declared. 

Tyrion brightened. "Ah, see? We've our plan, and it's still a good plan."

"What about your brother?" Rhaenys demanded. "Should he pursue the rest of Stannis' army to Duskendale? Or if Robb's runs into him along the way?"

"His Grace has bested Jaime before."

True enough, but the coming battle was a terribly far way from the Whispering Woods. Even Jaime was shrewd enough to guess where Robb was marching a host to. Allowing him to survive the dragonfire was dreadful mistake after all-- one Rhaenys was now determined to amend. 

"We should call for a council," Jon suggested. "Tristan Rivers urged for haste, and perhaps that is what we should focus on now."

"Of course," Rhaenys agreed. 

As they trekked up the slope, Jon came close enough to whisper, almost sternly, into her ear. "I know that look."

"I don't know what you mean," she replied evenly. 

\---

A day after, Rhaenys returned to moors where her dragon was waiting. This time, she was clad in the same dress she had returned to Dragonstone in, Fyreheart at her waist, and a trail of people hastily following her. "You can't!" Tyrion insisted, doing his best to keep up with her long strides. "You mustn't!" 

"Did you just tell your queen that she cannot do something?" Rhaenys asked, keeping her eyes ahead of her. 

"I'm giving her advice!" 

Rhaenys wasn't sure what sort of advice he was giving, but she ignored it anyway. "Jaime would never harm me," she announced, having realized it the day she returned to Riverrun. Perhaps Brienne of Tarth was right after all-- honor had all but deserted Jaime Lannister. 

Tyrion snorted. "Are you sure?"

"He could have taken me captive when I arrived at Riverrun, but he did not."

"This is still my brother we're speaking of, the same man who would never untied a knot when he could slash it in two with his sword. Whatever voice of reason he happens to possess, it speaks for nothing but battle and bloodlust." 

"If reasoning doesn't work, then he may reason with Sonaral." Rhaenys was determined to finally rid herself of the Kingslayer; in some way or another. "And once Stannis' men at Duskendale are free of his shadow, _I_ will lead them to the Iron Gate, just as we planned."

The Hand of the Queen could not have been more under strain. "You don't have to lead anyone!" Tyrion urged. "I'm sure the king will find someone just as able to take Stannis' place, and i'm very sure he wouldn't want you to in such a dangerous situation."

"It's not his decision to make." Rhaenys halted, twisting around to face her Hand. Behind him, Jon, Daenerys, Arianne, and Oberyn came to a standstill themselves. "What difference does this make?" She asked him. "I was going to King's Landing regardless."

"Yes, aboard a warship, with guards. A safe distance from the fighting while your men clear a path to the Red Keep for you."'

"What kind of a queen would I be if i'm not willing to take the same risks I am asking others to?"

"Risks?!" Tyrion retorted. "If you die, we're all lost! Everything we've done to this very moment, gone!"

_Gone _. Rhaenys ruefully knew that her death would ignite a whole new realm of suffering for her loved ones and supporters; but the very same could happen even if she lived. "Lord Tyrion, if we lose this battle and barely escape with our lives, what happens?"__

__"We try again," Tyrion declared, ever so hopeful._ _

__"And meanwhile?" She challenged him. "A lost battle of such a size will means thousands of causalities. It could take years for us to rebuild the armies we have now. We'll be living as exiles in our own lands and castles. I will not raise my children in the same shadows I have lived in for three years." Rhaenys glanced up from him, looking to those who watched and listened. "Can't you see? We have no choice! Losing will bid the end of us. There won't be any second chances! I need to lead those men. I need them to see me. They need to know that their lords and lives are not pawns of mine, replaceable if fallen."_ _

__Tyrion bowed his head, all but yielding to the fact that Rhaenys had made up her mind; that did not stop him from one last attempt. "You do not owe Stannis Baratheon anything--"_ _

__"Lord Tyrion, for what its worth, Stannis Baratheon returned my husband to me. I think you know how much that alone means."_ _

__Oberyn came forward, stepping in between them. "Let her go, my lord," he told him. "You may as well be asking the sun to rise in the west." The Red Viper turned away from Tyrion, pulling Rhaenys into a tight hug. "Your mother would have been proud of you," he murmured into her ear._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Stannis, the one true grammar king. 
> 
> AND ALL HAIL SHIREEN BARATHEON LADY OF STORM'S END FUCK YOU HBO


	82. the knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Longsword in hand, Jaime Lannister began to approach her."

Jamie Lannister spurred the horse called Honor over the soft roll of the knoll, and immediately caught sight of the banners. He squinted through the grey morning mist, which had only started to melt away. There were white peace banners, of course, but it were the ones of black-and-red that dropped a pit into his belly and caused his skin to prickle; he hadn't seen the colors in nearly twenty years. Jaime's suspicions were answered at last-- the noble houses of the Crownlands were not only rebelling for the sake of it, and Stannis Baratheon did not perish only in a campaign to win back his lands. The Lannister was so taken by his own thoughts, he did not notice when Ser Bronn came to his side. "No sign of the dragon," he grunted. "The girl kept her word."

Jaime had thought as much, but there was still a nagging fear that he could've been leading his men into a deadly ambush. _She's not Aerys,_ he reminded himself. _…Or Cersei…_ Strange how many presumptions he had about a girl he barely knew. Why was that? "Let's move, then," Jaime said, spurring his horse at once.

As per the terms of the parley, neither of the hosts boasted more than twenty men, and the dark silver dragon was no where to be seen. Once at the foothill, Jaime's eyes searched through the faces; it didn't take long. Rhaenys was where he expected her to be-- at the van, flanked by men who all swore to serve her. Jaime never thought that a message for parley would have come to him at her behest. He called for Bronn to follow him, asking for the rest to remain a few paces behind. Rhaenys did the same, with two men keeping at her mount's flank. Jaime only recognized one of them; the man who shielded Stannis Baratheon's corpse from those who thought to defile it; he was looking to Jaime with contempt, nothing unusual or unexpected. The other man was a stranger, no more than forty, with balding brown hair. His dark plate armor bore the crossed warhammers of House Rykker. _The Lord of Duskendale,_ Jaime presumed. Quite a feat, considering what Robb Stark's men did to the town.

"Ser Jaime," Rhaenys greeted, gently nudging her brown mare forward. She was dressed in winter greys and furs, and despite her age and sex, she did not look out of place amongst the older and seasoned men. Instinct murmured that it should have been taken for a farce, but Jaime knew that he wasn't treating with just any girl-- the last he had seen her, her mount was a dragon. He could still recall the field of fire, the encampment devoured by angry flames, many his men along with it. Brienne had told him that he only survived what happened at Riverrun because Rhaenys allowed it; he hadn't stopped wondering why the Targaryen bothered to.

"Lady Rhaenys," he replied evenly. "What are you doing here?" 

"I'm here to defend Duskendale."

There was iron ringing in her voice, clear and brave and determined. It was as though Jaime was hearing her speak for the first time. "That is not your responsibility," he remarked, his eyes flitting to the port town that was silhouetted in the distance ahead.

"As the rightful Queen of Westeros," Rhaenys declared. "I have a duty to my people."

Jaime could have winced. _The rightful Queen of Westeros... this girl is going to be the death of herself._ "Do you think a crown upon your head will solve anything?" He asked.

"No crown could solve anything," Rhaenys scorned. Her voice was edged now, her words baring iron teeth. "I don't care for a crown, Ser Jaime. I want the war that your family started over with." 

The war that both Queen Cersei and Lord Tywin seemed to believe that they were winning; but Jaime wasn't even sure about that anymore. He looked to the man at Rhaenys' left. "Renfred Rykker, I presume?" He called out, and the man nodded tersely. "As I recalled," Jaime continued, looking to ease his own confusions. "Your town was at peace until the wolves came."

Rhaenys' eyebrow lifted slightly, silently demanding for what Jaime was trying to do there. "Indeed it was," Lord Rykker agreed, but there was nothing malicious about him. Of course there wouldn't, not if he agreed to house Rhaenys in his castle, and come all this way to parley with her. "Queen Rhaenys spoke of what happened, that Roose Bolton betrayed the North for your father." The lord looked upon Jaime with disgust. "I also hear that House Tarly deserted the Tyrells for the Lannisters. This is the age the lions have dragged us into. Bannermen betraying their true lieges."

"Hardly the first time," Jaime remarked. 

"The first was once too many, but I cannot expect nothing less from the Kingslayer himself."

"Aerys is the reason your family rules even Duskendale," Jaime retorted.

Renfred Rykker turned livid at once."Am I to be grateful to that madman now--"

"Lord Rykker," Rhaenys warned quietly. 

The reprimand was a quiet one; Rhaenys had no need to roar for their attention. Not like Joffery or even Cersei, who commanded with an urgency, to remind everyone around them just who wore the crown. "She has promised us peace," Lord Rykker then said, crooking his head towards Rhaenys. "A promise that your sister hasn't even bothered with. We know what Cersei did to the Sept of Baelor. Mace Tyrell, his daughter, the High Septon, a quarter of the city gone to wildfire. Cersei did what Aerys dreamed of doing…who is to say she won't do it again?"

No one could have-- not even Jaime. He left King's Landing to see to the chaos that had erupted in the Crownlands, to keep the queen's peace, as Lord Tywin called it. Cersei's idea of peace was quite molded to her image-- kill the traitors, frighten the rest into submission. Let the realm feed off of fears. Winter was here, but at least the Lannisters would forever gleam gold though the cold. "You should have stayed in Riverrun," Jaime heard himself say to Rhaenys. 

"I wish I could have," Rhaenys said, a shade wistful. "But I do what I must, for my children."

Jaime swore he misheard her, but out in a grey morn so still and silent, it was impossible to. "Your children," he repeated. _When the hell did that happen?_

"Twins," she revealed. "I was four months when I came to Riverrun… after another four, I had them."

Jaime stared at her, quite still disbelieving. Riverrun…he hadn't even noticed that Rhaenys was with child; but of course, she would have hidden it from him. And twins, as well. How lucky for her. It must have been agonizing to leave them. _Again with the presumptions,_ Jaime thought, frustrated with himself. _I don't know this girl._ "All the more reason for you to remain in Riverrun," he remarked.

"You're the reason I lived to have children," said Rhaenys. "The reason I lived at all… but I will do anything to protect my babes, do you understand that, Ser Jaime? No sentiment can preserve you. I owe you nothing. You saw what my dragon did to your men at Riverrun. I won't hesitant to remind you."

Jaime began to wonder about who else in Westeros paid her such heed. The Starks and Martells, of course. The Tullys, for certain. The more he dwelled upon it, the more he realized how much trouble Cersei was in for. Greyjoy ships had confronted the royal fleet at Dragonstone. Stannis Baratheon died fighting for Rhaenys. The Tyrells wanted nothing more than Cersei dead. Gods knew what became of Petyr Baelish. And yet, they kept telling Jaime that House Lannister was winning the war. "Then why the bother with a parley if you all the power you need?" He asked. The dragon was only a piece of it-- it was loyalty that kept a kingdom together.

"I'm offering you and your men the chance to surrender," Rhaenys replied. "Not everyone wants to die for a lost cause."

Jaime gazed at her, curious. "There was a time when you would have slaughtered any and every Lannister man without blinking."

"There was," she agreed. "But that is not the example I want to rule by. Wanton slaughter is not what i'm after. That's Cersei's game."

"Cersei's game is a dangerous one," Jaime warned. "You won't be able to beat it."

"You can't beat that dragon," Lord Rykker remarked. 

Ser Bronn suddenly cleared this throat, as if to remind everyone that he was there. "A crossbolt took down Meraxes," he declared. "Rhaenys along with it." Bronn held the living Rhaenys' harsh stare with a touch of amusement. "As it happens, Queen Cersei sent us along our way with a few scorpions."

Jaime became irritated with Bronn for no reason, and wished he could have struck the smirk from his lips. _I don't want this girl dead,_ he realized bitterly. Since the day Rhaenys returned to Riverrun very much alive, he spent every day after trying to best the confession; but sometimes, he dreamt of Elia Martell and her small son, and how he failed them both. But this was not the time to mourn a long dead princess. Jaime mourned his own three dead children, the little brother who betrayed him, the dignified father who was grasping at the loose twine that tied their house and legacy together. And Cersei…Lord Rykker was right-- she _had_ done what Aerys dreamed of doing... what Jaime fought to prevent when he slashed the mad king's throat into one last deranged smile.

"I am Lord Commander of the Queensguard," Jaime declared. "I won't surrender, my lady."

Rhaenys bowed her head. Her face was solemn, revealing nothing. She learned plenty from Ned Stark, and Jaime wondered if that was going to be her end. "So be it," she said. "Sleep well, Lord Commander." She pulled back her horse's reins, the other two men following, trotting to where her guard awaited. 

"For a moment there, I thought you were gonna yield," Bronn remarked.

\---

Rhaenys ran her hand along the flank of her horse, who had began to whinny. It was the stench of the corpses without a doubt, rotting in the shadows of Duskendale's high walls, that stirred the horses and their riders into unease. As Lord Rykker shouted for the gates to be opened, Ser Davos Seaworth rode to Rhaenys' side. "Don't despair," he reassured her. "You did what you could." 

"There was little hope for a surrender," Rhaenys agreed. "I just thought Jaime would have learned his lesson at Riverrun."

"The Kingslayer stacked his own pyre," Tristan Rivers muttered. "The dragon will make fodder of them all."

The gates opened, and Lord Rykker led them through the gatehouse. The market square was quiet that hour, for the smallfolk waited with bated breath for their their town to come under attack again. Duskendale still bore wounds from the ill-fated northerners' march. Rhaenys' host rode through the cobblestone roads, past windows of homes whose curtains stirred at the sight and sound of horses. Their liege-lord and the rumored dragon queen. The last time a Targaryen came to their town, it spelled out doom for many.

Overlooking the port was the Dun Fort, a large square and squat keep with high drum towers. House Rykker had called it home for less than thirty years. Before them, it was House Darklyn that ruled the keep, as kings before lords, for more than a hundred years. Then came the Defiance of Duskendale, when the last Darklyn lord took King Aerys for his hostage, all in his demands for a new town charter and certain rights for his people-- it came to an end when Ser Barristan Selmy snuck into the castle and freed Aerys, forcing Lord Darkyn to surrender. Aerys' vengeance had been terrible to behold; House Darklyn was all but destroyed, their lands and gold granted to House Rykker. Rumor was that Aerys' madness was birthed within his prison beneath the castle.

Rhaenys had arrived to Duskendale only two days ago, and not a moment too soon-- the Rykkers were preparing for a possible siege by Jaime Lannister, certain to have been spurring his men to the town. It was Monford Velayron who was to be thanked for the bloodless surrender of House Rykker, but he had returned to Driftmark some time ago. Even then, Rhaenys wasn't sure how the Lord and Lady of Duskendale would have received her; as Jaime declared, Duskendale had been at peace until the wolves came, and even she could not deny that. But to her relief, Lord Renfred and his wife Bethany gave her a warm welcome. _I believe you,_ Lord Rykker had said, after Rhaenys told him about Roose Bolton. _Yet, we've more than a hundred northerners buried along our beaches. More corpses rot at our gates. It happened, and we have suffered for it, but we grow tired of all this warring. I have six children to see grown._

The Dun Fort's courtyard was busy and loud with men readying for battle, as well as the Rykkers' younger children at play. Anxiously awaiting in the midst was Bethany Rykker, her youngest son in her arms. Rhaenys dismounted, handing the reins of the mare to a squire. "How did it go?" She heard Lady Rykker ask her husband. Even the children slowed their play to listen.

"The Kingslayer wants his battle," Lord Rykker grunted. "So we shall give it to him."

Lady Rykker's face paled, and she held her little son a bit more tighter. Rhaenys went over to her at once. "I'm sorry my lady," she told her. "I wanted to avoid this."

"You've nothing to be sorry for, Your Grace," Lady Rykker said, mustering a small smile. "You can't expect to change every man's heart, but I'm grateful that you tried." She bowed her head respectfully before calling out to her other children. "Come along, you three. Let the men work. You can play in the gardens." The three young Rykkers scampered and weaved through the busy men, running past their mother and Rhaenys. Lady Rykker sighed, hastily following them. 

Envious, Rhaenys watched as the carefree children bounded along their mother's skirts. Her breasts had begun to ache from the idle milk, though her heart ached more. It took every bit of her to not mount Sonaral and endure a long flight back to Riverrun, back to her own little ones. "You should go with them," Ser Davos suggested as he came to her side. "The sight of the sea does wonders to the heart," he continued, referring to the beautiful gardens of the Dun Fort, all which overlooked the Narrow Sea.

"We have a battle to prepare for," Rhaenys remarked, turning away from where Bethany Rykker and her children went. "You heard what that man said, about scorpions."

She began to stride towards the large square keep. Ser Davos kept pace, but he did not relent. "Forgive me for speaking free, my queen. You've been from Riverrun to Dragonstone to here. You birthed twins less than two moons ago. You need a bit of peace."

How Rhaenys longed for even a bit of peace. She wished she to be back upon the moors of Dragonstone with Jon and Daenerys, but she made her decision. "I'll claim my peace when you and the rest do."

Ser Davos sighed. "You remind me of Stannis at times." Rhaenys stopped abruptly, upon the stone stairs that led up to the keep. When she looked upon the knight curiously, he hastily added "Your Grace" as though he had forgotten who he was speaking to.

"How so?" Rhaenys asked. 

"Stubborn," Ser Davos relented. "But duty and justice were his bread and butter." 

"Well, his grandmother was a Targaryen." It was very strange being likened to a man who was once a fierce enemy of hers.

"We are more than our blood," Ser Davos remarked. "Else, I would have been doomed to a wretched life in Flea Bottom, as was my father, and his father before him."

Rhaenys knew Flea Bottom to be the most trodden and poorest place in King's Landing; an unlikely place for a man as honest and loyal as Davos Seaworth to have come from. "Ser, how did you come to know Stannis?" 

"Smuggling," he replied, the crinkles around his eyes furrowing as he smiled. "Not something a highborn lady would want to hear. Some time during the Rebellion, I was eager to carve a path to Storm's End. It was under siege for a year, but by the skin on my back, I avoided the Redwyne Fleet. I risked my life for crates and barrels of onions and salted fish, because I knew starving people paid the best price. The food was enough to keep Stannis and his men until Ned Stark came to help end the siege. Stannis may have been a hard man, but gods know he was a fair one. He rewarded me, knighted me, gave me titles, lands, a name." Ser Davos lifted his left hand, which Rhaenys knew to have been maimed. "The punishment, of course, for my crimes. A just one, at that. The first joint of each finger, the bones of which I kept. A just price for a future for my wife and sons."

Lady Rykker had told her that Stannis was laid to rest in a hero's tomb beneath a sept. Rhaenys knew more of the terrible things Stannis Baratheon had committed than of the man himself-- the murder of his youngest bother, the willingness to sacrifice his own and only child. He would have succeeding in killing Rhaenys, had she not been the blood of the dragon. "Stannis wanted to put things right," Rhaenys said earnestly. "He sowed, and i'm sorry he'll never see the end." 

"Aye, he would've served you well." Smiling sadly, Ser Davos gestured towards the doors of the keep. "My queen."

\---

Jaime glanced over Randyll Tarly's maps for what could have been a hundredth time. While he was away, the Lord of Horn Hill busied himself with drawn up maps and parchments, pondering upon the best way to kill a dragon. _Wings and underbelly_ were scrawled in the margins upon one of the maps. On the same map, the positions of all nine scorpions were marked out. Qyburn had really outdone himself with his specially crafted scorpions, and the iron-headed shafts crafted to pierce a dragon's thick hide; the old maester had also been attempting to mix a poison potent enough to stop a dragon's heart in mere moments. Jaime wondered if he ever succeeded.

In the corner of his eye, Jaime spotted the entryway of the war tent flutter. He looked up just in time to see Lord Tarly's son, Dickon, peer inside. "Oh...Ser Jaime," he greeted, hesitant on whether to enter or not. 

"Lord Dickon," Jaime replied, gesturing for him to enter. The boy was no more than fourteen, made Heir to Horn Hill after his older bother Samwell joined the Night's Watch. He was rather comely, and a skilled hunter and excellent swordsman-- from what Lord Tarly had mentioned, everything that his firstborn son was not. 

"I wanted to look over my father's plans," Dickon explained. "One of the knights mentioned that this battle would be a terrible one…" He strode over to join Jaime, keeping an eye upon the battleplans. "Because of the dragon," he clarified, as if that was not obvious. 

"This won't be the first time men came to clash with dragons," Jaime reminded him. "And something tells me that it is time for us to get used to it."

"What do you mean?"

"Rhaenys' aunt, Daenerys, She has three dragons of her own. Haven't you heard the rumors?"

"I have," Dickon replied. "But Father said it's foolish to take gossip for word."

"Gossip may have saved our lives." Even before Cersei declared herself queen, she and Lord Tywin had demanded that the maesters of the Red Keep began devising weapons and defenses to be used against dragons. At the time, Daenerys' three were the original concerns; no one even knew about a fourth, the one that was actually in Westeros. "Those scorpions were only built because of rumors." 

Dickon took one of the parchments in his hand, looking over his father's scrawl of a hand. For all the time Jaime had known him, Dickon was never one for plans of any sort. He'd all the bravado of a young man eager to prove himself with steel. The talk of the dragon must have rattled him somewhat. "Ser, this…dragon queen," Dickon uttered. "You knew her when she was a little girl."

"When I served in Aerys' Kingsguard," Jaime replied. Aerys didn't like her that much, he remembered. The king even got it in his head that the Dornish knight Arthur Dayne was her true sire, until Rhaegar put an end to it. 

"And you saved her from slaughter," Dickon pressed on. "When King's Landing was sacked."

"Yes, I did."

"There must be a debt then."

Jaime shook his head, and the young lord quickly turned dejected. "No. Rhaenys told me herself. I owe her nothing…and she is right." He looked down to a spread of parchment with even more cramped scrawling, doing his damnedest to look indifferent. "In the time spent to kill Aerys, I could have saved her mother and her brother." 

Suddenly, Randyll Tarly barged into the tent, looking quite cross. He was a lean and balding man with a short, bristly grey beard, and commanded a presence that could almost contend with Lord Tywin's. "Ser Jaime, is there a reason you didn't mention the Targaryen girl's children?" He demanded. 

Jaime had no reason, good or bad, except for that he knew the consequences should anyone know. "Who told you?" He asked. 

"Bronn just did. He was surprised I didn't hear it from you first."

"...I didn't think it mattered."

"Of course it bloody matters!" Lord Tarly snapped. "The Targaryens were never meant to survive! Those two babes change everything, especially should one be a boy."

"They are half-Stark," Jaime half-heartedly reminded him. 

"I don't care who their father is. Dragonsblood is dragonsblood."

"Funny, Robert used to fuss about the same thing." When the king was well into his cups, he would speak of nothing else, absolutely terrified that Rhaenys or a son of her body would rise up against him and steal his crown. "Lord Tarly, will you murder babes next?" Jaime demanded.

Randyll Tarly was narrow, yet iron-willed and shrewd and fearsome; worse of all, he had few scruples. "The queen will demand it," Lord Tarly said, and even his own son seemed bothered.

Jaime clenched his hand; there was a sudden and familiar dull ache that his golden hand would never quell. It was a hard thought to bear-- Cersei commanding one of her vicious knights to rip away the little twin babes from their mother's arms. She'd have their skulls dashed against a wall because she was just that cruel, having become so since Myrcella's death.

"Enough of babes, then," Lord Tarly said sternly, rousing Jaime from the dark thoughts. "Ser Jaime, you have declared my plans for this forthcoming battle exceptional. As it happens, I believe it that would be best if you returned to King's Landing as soon as you can."

Jaime stared at him. Did the lord think him so frightened of the dragon? "I'm not abandoning my men," he retorted.

"Don't be a fool." Lord Tarly shuffled through the small leaf of parchments until he came to a map of the Crownlands. He then traced an invisible line from Duskendale to King's Landing. It was a short distance, little more than a fortnight's ride. "If Rhaenys Targaryen has come all this way east, she means to take the capital. Is that not obvious?"

"I figured that much," Jaime said evenly. "Which is why I have to make sure she doesn't make it that far."

"Then what about Robb Stark?" Lord Tarly demanded. "Where is _he_?" It was anyone's guess. Had he been with his wife at Duskendale, then he most surely would have been with her at the parley. "I know that he has never lost a battle, lest you count a wedding," Lord Tarly continued. "I know he even got better of you, during his maiden battle. Have you more to say of him, ser?"

Jaime recalled how vengeful the Young Wolf became when he thought Rhaenys dead, what his lust for vengeance after what happened at the Twins urged him to do. Perhaps the return of his wife and the birth of his children might have gentled him, but somehow, Jaime thought not-- there was nothing forgivable about betrayal. Not to mention, Robb Stark still had yet to avenge his father. "If Stark was able to raise a good number of loyal men, then he is a great threat," Jaime decided. "And you must know, my lord, that he wedded Rhaenys out of duty and desire. He loves that girl more than anything in this world."

"Then that has made him all the more dangerous," said Lord Tarly. "Duskendale is only a town, ser. King's Landing is the crown, the Iron Throne, your family's legacy. Your command is of greater use there than here. Take the beast's heart, and strike off its head for good measure. Only then, we can begin mending the realm."

\---

Upon the eve of the battle, the Rykkers' great hall was filled with men who thought to enjoy what could have been their final supper. The Dun Fort's cooks did well to prepare a meal worthy enough for them. Bowls of creamy chestnut soup, accompanied by loaves of crusted bread still warm from the ovens. Afterwards came racks of lamb baked in a crust of garlic and herbs and steaks of swordfish fresh from the Narrow Sea, served with a sauce of lemon. Ale and wine were aplenty, and Rhaenys suspected that there were more horns of the thick brown ale drunk than plates of food eaten. Her own plate was barely touched, and her cup was already twice refilled with the hot spiced wine. 

Beside her, Lady Rykker had touched neither her plate or her winecup. Her youngest child Triston was sat upon her lap, and more interested in playing with his crisped fingerfish than eating them. "I thank the Seven that Rolland isn't old enough to accompany his father's men," she confessed quietly to Rhaenys, watching her firstborn son anxiously. He was sat with his other brothers and sisters, all laughing along with one of the Rykkers' bannermen. 

"There's no shame in that, my lady," Rhaenys murmured. 

"I can't protect him forever," Lady Rykker sighed, finally taking a sip of her wine. "Though I try."

Serving girls began to bring out salvers of lemon cakes frosted with sugar. Despite her hollow belly, Rhaenys took one because they were Sansa's favorite and she missed her terribly. She hadn't written her and Rickon since the twins were born. _Tomorrow_ , she decided, though her stomach turned-- gods know what the morrow would bring her. A dragon did not guarantee a victory; crossbolts had proven that. 

At the other end of the great hall, the doors rasped opened, and in hobbled Ser Rufus Leek, the one-legged castellan of the Dun Fort who got around on a wooden crutch. Behind him were the five scouts Lord Rykker had sent out that evening. "About time," the lord grunted, watching as the six of them cross the hall and to the high table. Several of Rhaenys' own men, including Ser Davos, glanced up from their plates and horns; some even lulled their jests and boasts to try and listen.

"My lord," one of the scouts greeted Lord Rykker. "The Lannister retinue is no less than two leagues from Duskendale. Tarly men are with them."

Lord Rykker curled his lip. "Lord Randyll helped defend Duskendale from the wolves," he said angrily. "Now he returns to attack us."

"I believe he means to lead the attack, my lord," another scout remarked. "We hadn't seen the Kingslayer among the host."

The lemon cake abruptly felt sickeningly sweet upon Rhaenys' tongue, and she promptly swallowed the morsel. "Are you sure?" She asked. 

"Quite sure, Your Grace. It wouldn't be like the Kingslayer to command from the rear."

 _No, it wouldn't,_ Rhaenys thought. "Then where the hell did he go?" Lord Rykker demanded.

"He must be going back to King's Landing," Lady Rykker uttered. "Now that he knows the rightful queen is here, he's left to defend the false one."

"We have to go after him." Rhaenys insisted. "They couldn't have gone far."

"What use would that be?" Ser Rufus asked. "It is Lord Tarly who threatens us now."

"As it came to a battle, I had hoped for Jaime to be killed or captured upon the field. Without him and his command, the Lannisters would be maimed, Cersei most of all."

"But the battle--"

"Ser Rufus, we have held our own lines before," Lord Rykker said. "As for the Kingslayer, it would be in our favor if he did not return to King's Landing." 

\---

Jaime spurred his men along the Robsy road until Duskendale was a good day's ride behind. To his knowledge, Rosby should have still been left untouched by the rebels. Perhaps its proximity to King's Landing made it an undesirable place for any dissenters to hide. Once he was satisfied with the distance between his men and the port town, Jaime finally allowed them to rest. Ser Bronn dismounted at once, cursing as he did. "About fucking time," he grunted, reaching out to rub his nose, which had gone ruddy from the nipping cold. Jaime had donned the heavy white cloak of the Queenguard's winter raiment, but yet, the bitter air still seemed to pierce through his armor. He had never known it to be so cold in the Crownlands. "Stokeworth's another couple days ride," Bronn remarked. His wife Lolly had recently become the Lady of Stokeworth, in turn, making him lord of the castle. 

"We can stop there," Jaime said. "You must miss your lady-wife terribly."

Bronn only grunted in response. Jaime resisted the urge to remind him that even the oldest, poorest, and ugliest spinster in all Westeros would have recoiled at the thought of marrying him, a lowborn sellsword from gods know where; however, having met Lady Lolly before-- a soft-bodied woman with a softer head and a bastard son called Tyrion-- Jaime supposed that some sympathy was due. 

Still mounted, Jaime quickly surveyed his host, especially the two scorpions that were spared from Lord Tarly's share-- after all, Tarly would need it the most. He wondered how the battle fared, or if it had ever even begun. Bronn was rather confident that the iron crossbolts would do their duty; he even lamented that he wouldn't be the one to fire the killing bolt. _A right shot in the eye,_ Ser Bronn had claimed, already half-fancying himself as Bronn the Dragonslayer. _Ought to bring the fucker down._

Then, Jaime heard the unmistakable shriek of a dragon.

\---

Atop a dragon, it didn't take long at all. Rhaenys peered down below them; the scarlet-and-gold banners were speckled along the road. Sonaral gave out another piercing cry, growing impatient as their enemies stood idle. But Rhaenys glanced behind, hoping to espy her retinue; surely enough, Ser Davos led the rest of the men down the road, called to fight by the dragon's screeching. " _Jagon,_ " she finally said, urging Sonaral to fly lower. They soared along the length of the retinue, until they came to the van. " _Dracarys!_ " Rhaenys shouted, and a stream of fire raised a burning wall across the Rosby road, cutting the Lannister men from its path-- several men and horses were caught in the flames, and pillars of smoke began to blacken the air. 

"Archers!" Rhaenys heard a man screech. A row of them were all lined beneath, waiting with nocked bows for the dragon to fly low and close again. 

Atop his mount, Jaime Lannister watched and waited. 

Ser Davos and the rest could not have been far off, but Rhaenys did not want to wait any longer. She nudged Sonaral to descend once again. The archers released their bowstrings, but arrows fell away from the dragon's thick hide like water droplets from a duck's wing. " _Dracarys!_ " Rhaenys said again. The row of archers were incinerated, but Jaime narrowly escaped their fate. 

Then and sudden, something streaked past Sonaral. It cut through the air, ringing almost like how an iron-tipped spear did. Startled, Rhaenys twisted her head around and saw what must have been a scorpion. It resembled a crossbow, but it was the size of a catapult-- and by the looks of it, it was being reloaded. "Sonaral!" Rhaenys cried out, and the dragon circled around, returning to the rear of the scattering host, the intent of destroying that thing on both of their minds. The second bolt was a blur. The third struck Sonaral through the leather of her wing, and her scream was bloodcurdling. 

Rhaenys seized the barbs along the dragon's neck ever more tighter, clenching her jaw as Sonaral spat and writhed in the air before beginning to plummet. From what little she could have seen, the bolt went clean through the wing; there was no doubt that there was a tear. The dragon managed to restore herself in time to soften her fall onto the ground; the whole earth seemed to tremble violently. Angry and hurt, Sonaral began to thrash about, unheedingly throwing her rider from her back. The fall was fleeting; Rhaenys didn't realized it happened until she felt the freezing waters of a stream she had tumbled into. 

She painfully drew herself up, and stumbled out of the stream; cold water trickled from her hair, and her riding dress was drenched. The fall had knocked all the breath from her, and she could feel the bruises blooming along her skin, where her side and shoulder had hit the stones and gravel of the stream bed. Rhaenys fell to her knees, too exhausted to go any further. Sonaral was nearly twenty feet away, snarling and spitting in a terrible rage; it became clear that the iron bolt was only a flesh wound, and all it did was incur her wrath. 

Through the walls of smoke and fire, Rhaenys espied the dark figures of burning men, their screams lost in the roll of flames. Those who evaded the flames were snatched up in Sonaral's jaws or trampled underneath. She knew it would be better to cross the stream, and get away from the raging flames and clash; but when she thought to even try and do so, a black destrier hurdled through the fire, and its heedless rider leapt from the saddle. 

Longsword in hand, Jaime Lannister began to approach her. In the firelight, Rhaenys saw the ripples of Valyrian steel, black and red like her house's banners. Her fingers found Fyreheart's hilt. _I'll kill him like I did the Mountain,_ she decided. Yet, the rage that found her heart when she shoved the dagger through Gregor Clegane's eyes was nowhere to be found. Somehow, she lifted her eyes away from the looming sword and unto Jaime; she had never seen a man more conflicted. He looked down at his own hilt, gold and adorned with lion heads. "This was reforged from Ned Stark's greatsword," he said. "It…it wouldn't be right…"

 _Ice. It was Ice._ "To kill me with it?" Rhaenys finished, as embers flew like bits of snowflakes around them. 

Jaime slid the sword into its scabbard. "...And to kill you at all." He tore the white cloak from his back and draped it around her trembling shoulders. It was heavy and soft with woven wool, and an utter blessing to her numbed skin. When he offered her his hand. Rhaenys only stared at it. "I need to get you away from here." Jaime urged. "Quickly."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" Rhaenys spat. Underneath the cloak, her hand was closed around her steel's hilt. She begged the gods for the dark anger to come to her, but they left her hollow. She had told Tyrion of her certainly that Jaime would never harm her…now, it seemed that it was the same the other way round.

Jaime kept his left hand out. "If any of my men find you, none of them shall be courteous." 

"Then why should I trust you to be?" Rhaenys demanded. "If you think to take me to Cersei--"

"I'm taking you back to Duskendale," he claimed. "Or wherever those loyal men of yours are."

"Why would you do that?"

"You'll be safer where they are."

Rhaenys clutched at the white cloak, bunching her fist tightly into the wool. She could still hear her dragon's rage, now further off. "Why would you care--"

"Rhaenys." Jaime's emerald eyes shown in the raging lights, something that she remembered in Tyrion's own green eye, when he told her he could've believed in her, all those moons ago in Pentos. "As much as I ever claimed otherwise, it never mattered. I'm glad I killed Amory Lorch. I'm glad I killed that fucking pig before he killed you. You and Aegon were just babes…but my father didn't care. When I asked him about Elia, and he claimed he forgot about her. Tywin didn't forget. It was all a part of his grievance, when Cersei was passed over as Rhaegar's bride." Were there tears in the Lannister's eyes? Rhaenys could not have been certain; her own hot tears were muddling his face. "After all this and everything else…it would break my heart to see you dead." 

If Jaime was lying, then she was as good as dead. Yet, wet and trembling beneath the white cloak, she was as good as dead if she stayed there. Rhaenys wearily curled her fingers towards his outstretched hand, and in return, he carefully helped her from the ground, just as a true knight should with any maid. He led her to his restless destrier and helped her onto the rear of the saddle before mounting. "No need to worry about your dragon," Jaime grunted, tugging the horse towards the stream. "She destroyed the scorpions." He spurred his horse across the water and away from the fire.

\---

Jaime took a less worn path, tucked some distance away from the Rosby road; Rhaenys could tell from the sun that he was indeed taking her back north. They stopped as few times as they dared, to allow the horse to rest. They spoke little, if not at all. Rhaenys wasn't sure what else she could have possibly said. _This makes twice he's saved my life,_ she thought dully, clutching the white cloak as she watched the horse drink from a narrow stream. Jaime stood by his mount, his fist clenched at the reins. Ever so often, he was glance at Rhaenys, perhaps to make sure she hadn't run off. "Your children," he spoke. "What have you named them?"

"Eddard and Elia." 

"I should have guessed."

By dawn, they reached the hemming moorlands outside of Duskendale. Jaime halted his horse atop a low hill, carefully surveying the lands. Rhaenys peered around as well, her heart beating in her throat. All was still, and there was no telling who won the battle. "We'll try the harbor," Jaime announced. "Seamen would speak freely of anything." The horse's ears pricked up and he began to whinny. Jaime cursed the creature under his breath, wrenching the reins as the destrier began to panic; Rhaenys thought she spotted what stirred the horse into a fright.

"Wait," Rhaenys breathed. Gripping the white cloak, she carefully dismounted, treading a few paces away; behind her, the horse's fright only grew. The cold air stung her eyes and ragged her breath, but she forced herself to keep quiet to listen. It should have been hard for anything to hide or keep a soft step in the the wide sweep of the moors, but Rhaenys had known that blur of grey fur since he was a pup.

"Grey Wind," she called out, scarcely believing it, but there he was. The direwolf yelped, more playful than savage, and scampered right into her, nuzzling her face until she couldn't help but giggle. "I missed you too," Rhaenys whispered, running her fingers along the fur of his neck. Grey Wind yelped again, this time more shrill. His great yellow eyes were fixed upon Jaime. Rhaenys quickly looked back to the Lannister, whose jaw was clenched as he met Grey Wind's gaze. Rhaenys was certain that the direwolf was going to lunge him-- however, he did not. 

Suddenly, Jaime's unblinking gaze went north. "Over there," he uttered. Four riders were coming their way, one of them spurring ahead of the other three. Rhaenys thought her heart was going to burst; of course, if Grey Wind was there, that meant her own wolf was there too.

"Rhaenys!" Robb called out, his voice fraught and relieved. 

In Rhaenys' own haste to get to him, the white cloak fell away from her shoulders. Robb halted his horse at once, and once he dismounted, she flung her arms around his neck, trembling not from the cold but a feverish relief. It seemed that fate at last hated to see them separated for too long. A year had been enough. Robb eased away to cup her face with his hands, his azure eyes wide. "Don't ever scare me again," he beseeched, kissing her brow. He then unfastened his cloak and wrapped it around her. 

"I'm sorry," Rhaenys murmured, pressing her brow to his gorget. She felt safe enough to feel vulnerable, as has been her heart's ache even before she left Riverrun, one that only seemed to fester since leaving Dragonstone, and finally bleed out since yesterday and all through the night. She closed her eyes and shut the world away, but it felt as though she was still falling, even as Robb kept her on earth with his arms around her. 

"Well," she heard Jon Connington's gruff voice say. "I didn't think we'd meet again so soon, Ser Jaime."

Lord Connington and Jaime were both eager and hopeful young men the last they've seen the other, one a young King's Hand, the other a young knight of the Kingsguard. It took Jaime several moments to even place a name to the older face. "Jon Connington," he said at last, before saying what everyone did of Lord Connington: "I thought you were dead."

Rhaenys lifted her head away from Robb's chest, wondering just how in the seven hells Jaime was going to explain all this. At the sharp ringing of steel being drawn, she twisted around and saw Franklyn Flowers and Tristen Rivers, their swords bared as they approached Jaime. "This your pretty cloak, Lannister?" Ser Franklyn jeered, snatching the white cloak from the grass.

"Your queen was cold," Jaime replied. He came off his mount, but made no urge to reach for his longsword. Rhaenys glanced back unto Robb, but he was looking to Grey Wind. The direwolf was oddly calm, despite being no stranger to the likes of Jaime. Before, he would have made scraps of skin and sloughs of blood of the Lannister. 

"I would have chosen Tarth above Duskendale, if you wanted to reconcile yourself with Westeroi scenery," Jaime remarked.

"We happened to hear rumor of a Lannister host making for Duskendale." Lord Connington retorted. "And Lord Tarly must rue our good hearing. His forces were decimated. His and yours, at that." 

Ser Tristen chuckled, smirking at the sight of Jaime's dark look. "The wolf got a good chuck out of Tarly."

But Jaime ignored him, instead gazing upon Robb. "Haven't you anything to say, Stark?"

Underneath the cloak, Rhaenys' hand was in Robb's. She felt his thumb skim the frayed seams of her glove, tenderly as though caressing a bird's broken wing. "Surrender," Robb said. "Not to me, to her."

Jaime's chest heaved as he drew in a heavy breath. The moment he took Rhaenys upon his horse's back, he had to have known-- there was no returning from this. "Very well," he said, nodding to Rhaenys. "I surrender, my lady."

Rhaenys dipped her head to acknowledge his surrender. Franklyn and Tristen exchanged baffled glances, but Lord Connington had no want to wonder. He strode over to Jaime, holding out an outstretched palm to Jaime. "Your sword, Kingslayer," he demanded. 

"Let's go, Rhaenys," Robb murmured to her, easing her away and to where his horse awaited. The lion yielded at last, but Rhaenys still wasn't sure why. Jaime swore he didn't want her dead, and even left his men to see to her safety. What else did he think to do? "Do you remember what Father used to say?" Robb asked, lifting her onto the saddle. "If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. If you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die."

"I remember," Rhaenys said quietly. 

Robb reached for her hand again, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Let's get you warm, my love." He mounted the horse, settling behind her, holding her with one hand at her belly, and grasping the reins with his other. Before they rode away, Rhaenys looked behind, a last look upon the lion-- he was still standing there, surrounded by the armed men, but he didn't seem to care. Jaime was watching her back, pensive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took long enough.
> 
> See you all in 2018.


	83. burned but not buried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sick of all if this...this warring and leaving and grieving," Rhaenys said wearily. "I want it to end."

Rhaenys awoke, startled by what she realized was nothing. A dream, she decided, though she did not remember a wisp of it. She kept to the pillows, gradually coming to wake as her surrounding became familiar-- her guest chamber of the Dun Fort, quartered in one of the castle's high drum towers. At the bed's right, tall drapes were drawn shut, but bright light bled through the edges of the heavy cloth. Still a shade weary, Rhaenys sat up in the bed, wondering how long she'd been asleep. She began pulling off the thick woolen blankets that had been piled atop her. Between the coverlets and the murmuring hearth, it could have been summer again. She tugged the neckline of her white linen bedgown away from her skin. Before the septa's salve, purple bruises mottled her shoulder and side; to her relief, they were already fading, both in color and ache. However, she was still rather sore, wincing as she swung her legs to the floor. At the edge of the mattress, Rhaenys waited for the throbbing to ease. 

Robb had seen her to bed, promising with a kiss that he would return to her soon. She hadn't any chance to speak with him properly; all she knew of the last two days had come from the septa Mertha, who helped to bathe and comb her. Lord Tarly led his and Jaime's men to battle, but little more than an hour into the clash, Robb and his men arrived, and it had been all over for Randyll Tarly, who expected a dragon and got a direwolf. Somewhere on the Rosby road, Davos Seaworth had sent a squire back to Duskendale, and had the young man speak of what happened upon the road, that the queen had vanished from a fray and they were riding tirelessly to find her. 

Rhaenys curled her toes against the white fur rug, letting it tickle the soles of her feet. Then, she rose from the bed, taking care not to stumble as she walked over to the window. She grasped the hem of the drape and yanked it aside; it was well past midday, and the hour's light poured into the room. It was also very cold. The silver sky and grey churning waters of the Narrow Sea only made it all seem colder. Perched upon the sill, Rhaenys folded her hands upon her lap, searching the bleak horizon for any sign of Sonaral. She felt guilty for leaving her, but there had been no choice. 

Behind her, the door opened, tentatively, as though to not wake a sleeping person. Rhaenys peered over her shoulder, more than relieved to see Robb. A black jerkin and doublet took the place of his armor and padded surcoat; the fighting was over, for a time being. His eyes had gone to the bed first, and he smiled when he saw her upon the window sill. "I didn't mean take so long," Robb said, coming to sit beside her at the sill. "I wanted a word with Jaime." He rested his hand atop hers, glancing down as his thumb skimmed along her knuckles; but the smile was a shadow now. "He told me what happened on the Rosby road." 

Rhaenys bit her lip, a wash of regret overcoming her. She would accept that she was a fool; endangering herself and her dragon, all for a chance to kill one man. "Rhaenys, you could have died," said Robb, keeping a soft tone for her sake. But when he raised his eyes to hers, she could see the anger he was trying to hide. "If the Lannister hadn't a change of heart..." The anger wasn't for her; at least that was what Rhaenys told herself. It was meant for a more hateful thing-- being unable to protect the ones he loved. _I haven't done him any kindness._

"I'm sick of all if this...this warring and leaving and grieving," Rhaenys said wearily. "I want it to end."

"Not at the cost of your life!" Robb beseeched, his hand clutching hers. "Now Ser Davos tells me that you intend to lead Stannis' men into King's Landing." 

Anger and hate always make for a bitter beast, but it wasn't a look she was quite familiar with. Not upon his features. Rhaenys wriggled her hand from under his, clutching his wrist. "It's my throne, Robb. My duty. My family's legacy, or whatever is left of it..." She bit her lip again, trying to find a more tender way to say it. But, apparently there wasn't one. "And you've no right to stop me."

"As your husband, i've every right!" He said indignantly. "I've half the mind to send you to White Harbor upon a Rykker ship."

That startled her. It wasn't like him to treat her like some delicate maid. Worst of all, it was no way a consort should treat a ruling queen. "When you say things like that, you risk undermining me," she told him. "Some would even call it treason."

"Treason? Is it treason for a man to want to protect his wife?"

"You are not just a man, and I am not only your wife!" Rhaenys gripped him tightly, desperate to make him see past his anger. "I miss those days so dearly, but this is our life now and we have to live it, for our sakes and our children's."

"If you care for our children's sake then why did you leave them!?"

She pulled her fingers from Robb's hand and came off the sill at once, her back to him as she went across the room and closer to the hearth. "Rhaenys, I didn't…" She heard him rue quietly. "I'm sorry…I shouldn't have said that…" But she ignored him, folding her arms across her chest as she coldly stared into the burning flames. The heat washed over her face, the ruddy glow flushing her cheeks until it felt like a fever. Behind her, Rhaenys heard him approaching her. "I know you would do anything to protect Ned and Elia…that's why you're here." Robb was close enough to reach for her; she could feel it, and was both glad and glum when he didn't. "Rhae…i'm sorry. I left them too. You and them…"

Rhaenys still stared into the fire, wondering if she would ever see things, having been given the red god's kiss. But the flames danced, and she saw nothing; anything that was worth seeing was all in her mind's eye. "I've lost two babes before they were even born," she said. "I should be on my knees, thanking the gods for Ned and Elia. I should be at their cradle. They should be at my breast, not another woman's." She bit her lip and bit back tears. "I keep telling myself that i'm doing this for them, but I feel i've abandoned them." Rhaenys turned away from the fire; to her solace, the bitterness had gone from him, leaving only sadness. "Have I?"

Robb shook his head, finally closing the breadth between them. "Davos told me about Daenerys," he said, pressing his palm to the small of her back, just where her loose curls fell. "Not only have you stayed another Dance, you have your aunt." Rhaenys felt him wound a curl around his finger. "No one, especially me, should ever question what you are doing for your babes."

Still overwhelmed, Rhaenys leaned into him, and she felt him wrap his arms around her. "I'm so tired, Robb," she mumbled into his neck. 

He kissed the top of her head. "I know you are, my love." There were no boiled leather or ring-mail to separate her from him. In between them, Rhaenys' hand sidled up his jerkin, palming over his heart. She still had nightmares, and doubted she would ever truly be rid of them. "This will all pass," Robb promised her. "We have a future, Rhae." 

_Against all the odds_ , she dwelled, and there has never been anything more satisfying. "Tell me," she whispered. "Our future... our children."

Rhaenys felt him smile into her hair. "Ned is such a sweet boy. Listens as if every word was an important lesson…quick to smile and laugh. And our little Elia…she has your wit and will. If it were up to her, she'd go riding from morn to night. When she and Ned race, she'll never let him beat her. They argue about it quite often."

She saw it all as clearly and lovely as Robb did. Their son's sweet smile, and their daughter's tangled curls. Halls ringing with laughter and bickering and teasing. Her heart yearned. "I asked your lady-mother to take them to Winterfell, should it be safe enough," she said, and she hadn't even told him the best part yet. "I asked Ser Barristan and Lady Brienne to protect them all the way." She peered up at him. "Arya will help too."

Robb's eyes went wide. "Arya? You mean she's at Riverrun?" She nodded and he grinned, kissing her brow again. "Then they'll all be together again...Sansa, Arya, and Rickon. Bran, if the gods finally have some mercy."

 _Oh, how sweet that would be._ "You shouldn't keep them waiting any longer," she told him, a gentle and playful and most sorrowful scold. Gods must know how much they missed their big brother.

"No," Robb murmured. "We shouldn't."

Once what seemed like a long time ago, life was lovely. It could all come to be again, but only when this terrible game of thrones was won. "Robb... I know you love me," Rhaenys said softly. "But you love more than just a girl. She's a queen as well. You have to let me be a queen." She felt the rise and fall of his chest-- a deep and sad sigh. 

"There's never lived a queen like you…neither is there any telling of will happen." 

Rhaenys lifted her head, gazing up at him with eyes bright with hope. "Roose Bolton and Walder Frey are dead, and their houses are in ruins. The Starks and Targaryens, we're still here. I've made my decision, just as you made yours. Your father said it so many times… the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword." She rested her chin upon his chest. "And it just so happens, you gave me a sword."

"Aye, I did," Robb smiled. "And you promised me its name when we saw each other again."

The last they saw each other, the hour he left her, she had been so uncertain of whether or not she would ever seem him again. Something sudden overcame Rhaenys, something almost dizzying. "Fyreheart," she said, in a hushed breath, before pressing her lips to his. Her fingers curled against his beating heart while his dug into her back, bunching tightly in the bedgown-- gentle enough to not bruise her skin through the linen, but craving to claw a way in. 

And Robb would've surely taken her back to the bed, had it not been for whomever dared to knock upon the door. Reluctantly, Rhaenys drew herself from him, stifling a giggle as Robb glared at the door. "Come in," she called out, a bit more breathless than she would have liked. It was the unwitting Septa Mertha who entered the chamber, a gown draped over her arm. A young maid was at her heels, her own arms full as well; she dipped her head, trying to hide a smirk as she easily guessed what the septa had interrupted. "Oh, I didn't think you'd be awake so soon, my queen," Mertha remarked, handing the dress to the smiling maid who flitted to the bed to lay it upon the mattress. 

"I'm stronger than I look," Rhaenys reassured the septa, who was looking over her carefully.

"Indeed you are," Mertha uttered. "The Mother holds your favor." Somewhere between her beady scrutiny, her pale green gaze went to Robb. "Lord Connington's been asking for you, Your Grace."

"Has he, now?" Robb asked, still vexed. 

Rhaenys furtively nudged his side, gracefully bridling back another laugh. "If you could give us a moment, septa," she beseeched. 

"Of course," said Mertha, and she gestured for the maid to follow her out. 

Once the heavy wooden door was well shut, Robb shook his head. "Reminds me of when Mother used to catch us."

Rhaenys finally laughed, remembering just as well; innocent kisses within the walls of Winterfell that sometimes went noticed. "You best see what Lord Connington wants," she suggested, wandering over to the bed. The gown left for her was dusky rose wool, with a high collar and silver buttons at the front. It was a pretty thing, and she was sure she had Lady Rykker to thank. Laid out next to it were silken smallclothes, a linen shift, woolen hose, and a pair of grey leather gloves. Resting upon the floor were knee-high boots. 

"I think you're due for a word with him as well," Robb remarked, joining her at the bed. "Has he ever spoken to you about Stoney Sept?"

"No," Rhaenys replied, taking the soft gown between her fingers. "But Tyrion told me, back at Storm's End." 

"A long cold road means many tales of old… and regret. Connington claimed his desire for glory cost Rhaegar of his life." Rhaenys traced a silver button with her thumb. The old griffin was no greenseer; how was he to know that Robert would slay her father at the Trident? "He won't admit it," Robb continued. "But he seeks atonement in your crowning."

Had all this more to do with Rhaegar's shade or her living soul? "Much can be said about what Stoney Sept could have been, and all of it is worthless now," said Rhaenys. "For Connington's sake, I hope he finds his peace wherever he thinks it is."

Robb sighed, wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her close to him. "I'll take care to not rip those buttons off later," he said teasingly, kissing her temple.

Rhaenys twisted herself to smile up at him. "You better, Robb Stark."

\---

There were many stairs high within the spine of the tower-- so many that the turnkey Mavin had apologized for the tiresome climb. But Rhaenys didn't mind; the great height treated her to a breathtaking view of the Rykkers' lands-- great green and brown moors that reached as far as one's eye would see, crowned by the darkening grey sky. As the winding stair went on, the sea took the place of the moors, ever so wide and endless. 

Finally, Mavin came to a heavy door red with rust and dark with forbiddance. He fumbled with the ring of keys at his belt. When he unlocked the door, a strange whistle mumbled a sad song through the dim corridor; the sea wind, the turnkey said. In that hallway were rows of chambers kept for highborn prisoners. Not quite dungeons; those were almost to the plinth of the Dun Fort, and currently thronged with Lannister and Tarly men. Mavin led Rhaenys a few more paces down to where Jaime Lannister was held. He waved the two guardsmen away, rattling his keys once more. Once the iron door groaned open, Mavin spoke quietly and coldly to the prisoner before gesturing for Rhaenys to enter. 

The chamber had a low ceiling, and only one window, carved out from the grey stone wall and webbed with iron bars. Outside was a somber view of the Narrow Sea. Brown roughspun carpets with frayed thread mantled the stone floor. It was quite obvious that this prison hadn't been used in years and years. Jaime was sitting at the edge of a cot, staring at the door when it had opened. He had been stripped of his gilded and white armor, and clad in simpler garb of a shirt and trousers. His golden hand, however, was left upon his wrist; there was no reason to be so cruel. As the door closed behind Rhaenys, Jaime glanced around the room as though he was seeing it for the first time. "I have to admit," he uttered. "This is far better than what Aerys got."

Rhaenys sidled a very short way to the window, gazing out to the silvery sea. Her grandfather the king was said to have been struck and stripped of his royal raiment, chained and humiliated. It was the damp and windowless dungeons he got. "Aerys was given was he deserved," she remarked, remorseless. She leaned against the stone sill, looking back to Jaime. His features were still, but she saw some pity there. 

"Had he died in this castle," he began. "Rhaegar would have ascended to the throne. Many wished it had gone that way."

Rhaenys had to wonder. "Do you think he would've been a good king?"

"Yes, I do," said Jaime, with all the confidence of someone who had enough time to spare it some thought. "You probably wouldn't believe me, but they _are_ people in King's Landing who still remember him fondly. He was well respected, and loved. Rhaegar liked to walk among them." Jaime smiled, at what must have been a pleasant memory. "Most of all, he liked to sing to them."

Rhaenys couldn't help a small smile herself. "Really?"

"Really. He would have gladly been a minstrel, if he wasn't the king's heir." Jaime skimmed a fingertip over the rich etchings of his false hand, foraging through twenty years worth of memories. "I remember," he then said, with a sadder smile. "You used to trouble him for a song and two. He never refused you." Rhaenys' gaze dropped to the frayed edges of the carpet. She didn't like hearing things like that. "He loved you and Aegon," Jaime then claimed quietly, and Rhaenys didn't like hearing that either. "No matter what you think of him."

 _Not what I think of him_. None of that compared to what she _knew_ of him. "Rhaegar tainted his own memory. I can't remember him as a father who loved me."

Jaime shifted upon the thin mattress, to face her properly. "But you do remember him?"

"Only little things."

"Too little to count?"

"They needn't be…" As a daughter with a dead father, they should have meant more. "Sometimes, i'd hear harpstrings in a dream. A song of his, I suppose. And I remember the black kitten."

"Balerion," Jaime remembered as well. "The Black Dread. He lives." Hearing that brought Rhaenys more joy than any pleasant memory of her father ever could. "He grew into an old vicious thing," he continued. "Hates everyone." Then, Jaime smiled again. "Perhaps you can convince Cersei that all you want is your cat back."

"I don't plan on convincing Cersei of anything," Rhaenys replied, though slightly amused. "I doubt it's even possible."

He shrugged. "You wouldn't know unless you try."

 _Well that explains it_ , she realized, as it hit her like an unexpected shower of rain-- cold and loathsome. "It that why you surrendered yourself?" Rhaenys demanded. "To bargain for Cersei's life?"

Jaime glanced down to his gold hand, tracing a mother-of-pearl fingernail. There was something wretched about seeing a knight with gold for a sword-hand. For once, there was no glory to be had in Lannister gold. "My children are dead. My father said to my face that I am no son of his." He balled his left hand into a fist until the knuckles were taut and white. "Cersei is all I have left."

If Cersei was truly all this man had left, then perhaps he did deserve some pity. "What about Tyrion?" Rhaenys asked, though it must have been for naught. Tyrion had sworn away his own family long before he even bent the knee. 

Jaime seemed surprised to hear his bother's name. "He's dead, isn't he?"

Rhaenys didn't expect such a morbid conclusion. "Why would you assume that?" 

"Easier, I suppose."

 _Easier?_ "Well, Tyrion's alive," Rhaenys told him. "...And he's my Hand."

Jaime looked as though he could not decide which surprised him the most. Eventually, he shook his head and looked down to his boots. "I've too many questions." Understandably.

"I know it's strange," Rhaenys remarked. "That I chose a Lannister of all people…but I haven't regretted it."

"Who you choose for your company isn't a concern of mine," Jaime remarked. "But the last I saw my little brother, he confessed to killing Joffery."

"He told me he didn't." _Well, he wished he did, but he wouldn't be alone in that desire._ "Anyways, you shouldn't ask anything of me that concerns Joffery." Jaime gave a terse nod in a wordless agreement. Still, he looked roiled. A son was a son, Rhaenys supposed. To her dying day, Queen Visenya defended and fought for her only son, Maegar the Cruel, whose reign began and ended in blood. Did it pain her for every waking moment, or did she simply not care? "But Myrcella and Tommen didn't have to die," Rhaenys said ruefully, remembering their young rosy faces as they played within the grey walls of Winterfell. "They were good and sweet."

Jaime lifted his left hand, pressing his fingers against his brow. "They were," he mourned, glancing over to Rhaenys. "And your good-brother Bran was the same, and I thought to kill the poor boy." He hefted his gold hand, where had once been the hand he pushed Bran with. "Does this make you feel any better?"

A just punishment, surely. "No, it doesn't," Rhaenys said dully, though she wished it did. But a Lannister's maimed hand wasn't going to let Bran walk again. Nor were his dead bastard children. Just as when she felt nothing upon learning of Joffery's death, or when she killed the Mountain-- their corpses didn't bring any of the dead back. Ellaria Sand had been right from the start. "This will all go round and round forever if we let it."

"Have you any plans to stopping this wheel?" 

"As my aunt Daenerys puts it, we are going to break the wheel."

At the very mention of Dany, Jaime seemed to recoil, his face drawn tighter into dismay. "When did you two--"

"A year's time ago, but that is a longer story." Rhaenys came away from the sill, prowling closer to him. "There are many terrible things I can say of Cersei, but despite all that, I know she loved her children, but now they are all gone. I've my own children now, so I know what sort of rage her heart is nursing." She paused, the reason she even came to his prison hanging in a midst. "The point is, Ser Jaime, there won't be any hope for me and my family if your sister continues to sit on the Iron Throne. There will be no truces or treaties. You already know how this will end."

He had to know. Given all that he was, Jaime Lannister was no fool. Except for perhaps, that hour in his prison. "Please... let me speak with Cersei," he pleaded. "My sister believes that gold and fear will support her reign, but even just one dragon, let alone four...even she cannot be so blind to that."

Sister, lover, it didn't matter-- Cersei Lannister didn't deserve such devotion. It was almost unfair. It was a shame, and the last of hopes Rhaenys had mustered for Jaime were gone-- the knight who took her upon his horse's back now seemed like a desert's mirage. "Cersei will be the end of you," she scoffed. "Even after all and what she's done, how could you? Lord Rykker put it best himself... she did what Aerys dreamed of, what you killed him to put an end to."

But Jaime shook his head. "Don't judge me," he said. "You'll only deceive yourself. I know what your husband did in the Riverlands." 

Rhaenys stared at him. That felt like a knife. It never occurred to her that he would know about that. "He told me you know as well," the Lannister went on. "Nice to know his father's honor didn't desert him entirely." Was he trying to be hurtful or pitiful? "Truly, i'm glad you didn't see him the day I last did. He would have broken your heart. His hands were red, from wrenching rope I would guess. But his eyes were the most terrible things...they hated. Even after we parted ways, the tales along the Red Fork would've shaken the Smiling Knight himself. Many spoke of that direwolf, a beast true enough, but not nearly as much as the man--"

Rhaenys wasn't sure how it happened, but before she realized it, she had slapped Jaime so hard, it left a bitter red welt upon his white cheek. But ever so mild, he lifted his good fingertips to the mark. "But I don't blame him," Jaime said solemnly. "He thought you were dead." His hand fell away from his face, and rested upon the useless one. "And I don't blame you either. We don't get to choose who we love." 

Balling her trembling hand into a fist, Rhaenys recoiled away from him, her back close to the door before she stormed out of the chamber, rushing past the guards and the turnkey "Your Grace?" Marvin called out, but she had already pushed the corridor's door open, remembering her way well. 

\---

It was raining when Rhaenys reached the foot of the tower. Fairly sheltered at the archway, she idled; she hadn't seen rain since Dragonstone. Hitching her sleeve up her forearm, and plucking her glove off, Rhaenys briefly held out an open palm to the rainfall, enjoying the way the drops plopped onto her naked hand. She felt like a little girl in Dorne again, taking joy whenever the slightest of showers came to those lands of sand and reds. It slowly lifted the dark fog Jaime Lannister had shrouded her mind in. 

Out in the grounds, many scurried in all directions, rushing to seek refuge. Only one creature had kept to his place-- Grey Wind, sitting patiently by, as he had been since Rhaenys went into the tower. The direwolf's yellow eyes shown even in sparse light, like molten gold nearly, as he padded closer to her. His fur was drenched, making his smoky grey pelt appear darker as it clung to him. When Rhaenys stepped out from the arch, he gave a short bark. "It's only rain, Grey Wind," she said. And a cold douse it was, seeping into her hair and gown with little mercy; but she wasn't going to stand around and wait for the sun.

The great squat keep had been at Rhaenys' mind, but she would've been completely soaked by the time she got there. Mertha had mentioned that the Rykkers planned a feast that coming evening; it certainly wouldn't do for her to attend it in such a frightful state. She imagined that somewhere in the seven heavens, Septa Mordane was shuddering at the very thought. Grey Wind barked again, more or less herding her along the path, urging her not to dawdle in the chilly rain. "Honestly," Rhaenys sighed, but she smiled just as well. Whatever trick Jaime thought to pull, it was a tactless endeavor. _Cersei is the monster. Cersei wishes to bathe in blood and feast crows for the rest of her days. I haven't deceived myself, ser, and I shall judge you until it is the gods' turn to_. The direwolf followed Rhaenys to the drum tower, and when he could not go any further, he nuzzled her wet face. "Go get warm," she told him, stroking his head. Grey Wind yelped, and he licked her cheek with a rough tongue before scampering away. 

Inside the wonderfully warm tower, Jon Connington was waiting for her; he had been sitting upon a stair, brooding. "There you are," he uttered, rising to stand. All the morning had been a haze-- now Rhaenys saw his face properly. The lord had grown his beard out; it was fiery red with bits of ash that dusted through it. "I hoped you wouldn't have gotten caught out there," Connington remarked. "You ought to be resting, you know."

Rhaenys kept still, allowing the warmth to skin into her skin. "I'm not delicate," she replied bluntly, as her skirts dripped water onto the stone floor. 

"No, not at all. Princess Elia would be pleased."

As well meaning as it was, Connington sounded a shade too gruff. As good a man the griffin had been to her, Oberyn's past scorn never lifted from her, not from Braavos to Duskendale-- _he thought Elia unworthy of Rhaegar…._ Rhaenys pursed her lips in a tight line. She knew her mother's health to have been ever delicate, but that was no reason for anyone shun her memory. "All mothers wish for their children to be stronger and more beautiful than they are," she said.

"Aye, you would say such things now," said Lord Connington. He crooked his head towards the stairwell. "Go on, Your Grace. You're half-drowned. We can speak later." He started for the door, but Rhaenys blocked his way. 

"Why did you want to speak with Robb?" She demanded, shivering but still vexed about his curt remark about Elia. 

Lord Connington looked wary. "It was about the Kingslayer. His fate. I wanted to ask the king first because…" His pale blue eyes looked past her, into the flickering shadows as though the way he wanted to put his words was hiding there. Rhaenys stared up at him, rainwater still trickling from her gown and onto the floor. She would go no step further until she got an answer. "If you choose to show Jaime Lannister some mercy," Connington finally said. "It should not be a cause for much surprise. He saved you. Once twenty years ago, and again only yesterday. We call him Kingslayer all we like, but perhaps a name of Queensavior is just as fair."

Right then, Rhaenys wasn't ready to contend with any fairness for Jaime Lannister. "But what does that have to do with Robb?"

"Tyrion told me what Jaime did to his little brother. I thought His Grace would've had a different opinion, but I was proven to be wrong."

Did did hope otherwise? Robb must have been terribly conflicted about it all. Rhaenys would never ever make him choose between her or Bran. "Lord Connington, even if Robb wanted Jaime dead and dealt with, I am queen here. At heart, Jaime Lannister's fate is mine to decide. Robb must've reminded you of that."

Lord Connington bowed his head. "He has, my queen. You've a just consort in him."

No more than a heartbeat after he spoke, the mahogany doors opened for a second time, and that just consort hurried in. "Seven hells!" Robb cursed, running his fingers through his sopping hair. His eyes then fell upon Rhaenys and her drenched hair and dress. "Again?" He asked, as if yesterday's tumble in the stream hadn't been enough. 

Rhaenys shrugged, thinking less of it. "Where have you been?"

"A raven came for Lord Rykker from Lord Velayron," Robb replied. "He and Lady Asha have started for King's Landing." 

Months of planning, years of yearning-- it's time had come. Soon enough, Jon and Daenerys would leave Dragonstone, and the true strength of the navy would be unleashed upon King's Landing, but not before the city was sieged and its gates stormed down. Rhaenys shivered, but not from the cold. "Then time to rally," proclaimed Lord Connington. The war shall finally take to King's Landing. 

But first, Robb led Rhaenys up the winding stairs, and eased their chamber door open. The hearth was cold and black with soot; Robb knelt before it to light a fire. Rhaenys went over to a chair where a maid had left a clean towel since the morning, and she begun to dry her hair. After the hearth was afire, Robb came to her. Auburn curls were still matted against his brow. It would have done him more good to have stayed close to the fire. Rhaenys told him just that, and reached up to towel his hair, which got them both to smile. 

But her mind wandered some place away. This war was already a great burden, but she still so much to tell Robb. Jon, murdered by a traitor, and returned to life. Rhaegar, who got Lyanna with child, a son who lived, somewhere. "Rhae?" Robb took the damp towel from her and dropped it upon the chair. "What's wrong?" He cupped her cheek, his calloused thumb tracing the line of her jaw. Rhaenys parted her lips to answer him, but quickly bit them instead. She wasn't ready to speak of any if it. She just wanted him. 

As promised, Robb didn't rip off any of the silver buttons, instead, he fumbled with them between kisses until he shed her of the gown. He also helped to shrug away the woolen hose, linen shift and silken smallclothes until they puddled at her feet. His fingers pressed into the curve of her hip, so hard, he might've left her with marks. But weary of the traitors' scars and the earth's bruises, Rhaenys hoped that he did. His other hand skimmed from her breast to her nape, and bunched in her damp curls with a gentle fist. Once Robb's clothes was with hers upon the floor, she pushed him backwards onto the bed, feeling less like a lady and more a rutting wolf as she straddled his hips. "You are much stronger than you look," Robb smirked. 

Rhaenys tilted her head ever so slightly, smiling down at him wickedly. "Haven't you learned that by now?" Her hands glided up against his scarred belly and chest, until her face lingered inches from his, black curls spilling over her shoulders. She cupped his cheek, the stubble of his beard grazing her palm. Robb lifted a hand, curling his fingers around her neck to bring her lips closer.

"I never learned," he whispered. "I've always known."

Even after Robb spent his seed inside her, Rhaenys kept him sheathed, her legs tangled in his own, and her chest pressed against his. The heat had ebbed away, and dread flowed back. "I'm so scared, Robb," she despaired quietly. A show of fear would do a queen no favors, but Robb would always look past the fear and darkness, and see her. His arm tightened around her, while his other hand went up to brush the hair away from her face. 

"I'm here," Robb murmured. "I always will be." He laid a light kiss between her eyes, and pressed his brow to hers. "I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took FOREVER. Happy new year. :3 
> 
> February makes two years since I began writing this fic. Hopefully, my writing has improved during that time. Looking back at everything now, I would definitely change some things, but thats because i've learned (and still learning). Anyway thanks for sticking around.


	84. these days of winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Winter would be upon the crownlands as soon as soon. They'd be lucky if they beat it."

It was as though he had caught the scent of her, that aroma of jasmines that clung to her hair, and followed it all the way to the gardens. The garden must have been beautiful when summer reigned. It commanded a wide view of the narrow sea, a beauty on its own, but as it was, nothing bloomed and all had withered, their petals scattered to the winter winds. Still, there was the scent of jasmines. At the edge of the sandstone terrence, Rhaenys stood, her arms rested upon the balustrade. She had worn a heavy brocade gown all day; she had changed into a rose-colored tunic, cinched at her waist with a belt where Fyreheart hung, and high boots and tight doeskin trousers underneath. Her hair was tied back with a length of red ribbon. Out in the distance, Sonaral flew across the horizon, her distinct silhouette dark against the silvery sky. Robb gazed at his queen somberly, at the last of the peace that was hers to enjoy. They would leave Duskendale on the morrow.

When he came to her side, Rhaenys didn't say anything, but her small tired smile spoke volumes. She rested her head against his shoulder, and her eyes drifted close. Robb took her hand into his own, tracing the delicate lines along her palm. Rhaenys had spent the whole day speaking, to one lord or knight and another. The more she spoke, the more they listened, and the more they saw the queen she was. There were no words in any tongue that could utter how proud he was of her.

Then, his eyes went down to Fyreheart's pommel, the rose of lapis lazulil; she must have been practicing. _Practicing for the lions_.

Robb buried his nose in her hair, terrified at the thought of losing her again.

Neither of them ever spoke of their deaths-- after a year of believing the other dead, they'd no reason or desire to. That brief life without her hadn't been worth living; his very heart had felt blighted, trapped in a casket of stone. When he thought of going about his true duty, of finding his brothers and sisters and taking them home, even that had paled in comparison to his lust for vengeance; they would have been better without him, what Beric Dondarrion's cold fire had awakened. Robb wished he could forget it all happened. But he could not, not ever. Not when saw the glint of daggers in his nightmares, or when he saw the pink scars upon his wife's dark skin. But perhaps they were a fair price to pay for the dream he was living, the gold dusted odds of having her returned to him. He would bear it, suffering gladly through the cruel memory of death's cold red bite with her warm skin and jasmine scent.

Robb felt terribly sorry for his half-brother-- as far as he knew, Jon had no one to comfort him. _Jon,_ he mulled over. Died protecting Rhaenys from yet another turncloak, and now alive by the will of the strange red god. Robb owed his half-brother the sun, moon, and stars.

So lost in thought, he didn't notice Rhaenys staring out to the sea again; this time, looking quite miserable. "Rhaenys," he murmured, anxious to ease her away from what dark wandering her mind had taken. He had known her for thirteen years, wed to her for nearly three, but there had always been a part of her he could never reach. As of late, that part seemed to have dug itself a deeper pit to nest in; especially after she spoke of Rhaegar's bastard, mothered by Lyanna. A son-- Rhaenys knew only that because she dreamt it, and Robb knew his wife's dreams to be more than just dreams.

"I wish Arianne never found that letter," Rhaenys lamented, her voice so small. "There might be joy in ignorance after all."

Robb looked at her, and saw many others. Princess Elia, who men old enough to know attested a resemblance in her daughter. Lady Lyanna, who for some reason, favored Arya. The thought of their own small son kindled a shade of Aegon, another little prince. "Rhaegar be damned," Robb scorned."You are no longer in his shadow. He is in yours. Him and his bastard." At least, he hoped the son had been born a bastard, for Rhaenys' sake. It would have been all the more despicable if Rhaegar did accomplish to annul his marriage to Elia. That long tale of abduction and abandonment and every terrible thing after, it had suddenly become a thousandfold worse. What would his lord-father have said? Or what if he knew?

"Rhaegar left behind a very long shadow," said Rhaenys. Her face tilited away from the sea and unto him. "I'll always live in it, no matter what. That's what happens to daughters with disgraced fathers." But despite such despairing words, she smiled. "At least our Elia won't ever know that life." Robb's heart ached for her. He long swore a silent vow to Rhaenys, long before those said before a septon-- she would never know her mother's hurt, and that of his own mother's.

"I won't ever let that happen," he murmured. "Don't lose heart."

Rhaenys reached out to touch his cheek. "It would be a terrible thing to lose again." Her hand fell away from his face, and she turned away from the sea. Robb thought she meant to return to the keep, but her thumb rested upon her sword's pommel. "Would you spar with me?" She asked suddenly.

Robb smiled at the strange request. "I doubt I could ever raise a sword to you, Rhae."

There was a familiar glint of mischief in her eyes. "Because you're afraid of losing?" Her playful challenge hung sweetly in the air; Robb found it difficult to refuse her. Back in Riverrun, he caught glimpses of her training with Brienne of Tarth-- he was curious to see what Rhaenys would surprise him with.

When Rhaenys drew Fyreheart, it rang out with a silvery croon, and she wielded it one-handed and elegantly. Robb had to admire how natural the sword seemed in her hand. It was in her veins-- the blood of warrior queens. He unsheathed his own blade, still hesitant about lifting it to her. She gave him a teasing smile, which heartened him rather than goad him. "It's a dance, Robb," she called out, and before long, the sound of steel was their song. Rhaenys swung first, and when Robb moved to knock the blade away with his, she gracefully skirted around him, holding Fyreheart's point towards his neck. The sword's tapered point ought to have caught his eye, but it was her smile that commanded his attention-- it seemed that he found a delightful challenge in his queen. Rhaenys pulled the sword back, returning to a defensive stance. "Your move, husband," she said smugly.

With a force light enough to not cause Rhaenys any harm, and just enough to give her the challenge she wanted, Robb swung his longsword; she caught it with her slender blade, as she did with every strike he tried. The longer they went on, Robb saw how her chosen form suited her as well as her sword did. Her lithe body graced her with a lighter step to evade and strike with a quickness. In some moons time, she could prove to be lethal in her own right.

Breaking from another peal of clanging swords, Rhaenys lunged and slapped his left hand with the flat of the blade. Robb drew back his stinging hand, grinning like a besotted fool. Taking advantage of the lull, she swung her sword, hoping to earn his yield, but he caught her steel with the edge of his; the blades slid against each other with a shrill hiss, until he was close enough to grab her around the waist. "This is hardly fair," Rhaenys breathed. Robb chuckled, watching her between their crossed swords until he was half-drowned in her deep brown eyes. The radiant smile upon her lips warmed him from skin to blood to bone. "If this battle was fought in a bedchamber, you would have lost," she quipped.

"I would have surrendered." He slid his hand up her back to her head, and gently tugged the ribbon from her hair. Raven curls tumbled down her shoulders, and the scent of jasmines was overwhelming.

\---

Jon leaned over the railing, looking to the wake of _Meraxes_ , marveling in the sheer size of the fleet. He had never seen so many ships in his life. There were the ones sent by Prince Doran, those that sailed south with Wylis Manderly, Lord Victorian's greater share of the Iron Fleet, and Daenerys' own all the way from Essos. From Driftmark came Asha's band of warships, the rest of the Golden Company's fleet, as well the what was left of Stannis Baratheon's. Had King's Landing been a city in the sea, the Lannisters' reign would come to a very quick end.

Then, Jon's eyes fell from the horizon, looking forward unto the place on the bow where Princess Arianne stood. Sunlight glinted from the golden rings she wore in her long black braid, and the sea wind swirled around her, causing her marigold cloak to flutter. The Dornish princess was quite a little thing, but at five-and-twenty, she was a woman for truth. Her lips were as full as a rose, and from between them, her voice was husky and thick with the Dornish drawl that Rhaenys had long lost to the North. Unraveled, the princess' hair would fall in thick lazy ringlets to her back. Her eyes were not the wicked black that many outside Dorne claimed were typical of all Dornish people-- they were quite dark, but brown all the same, and they laughed. Arianne had turned the heads of many men during her time at Dragonstone; Jon was sure it would happen in any court in all the wide world. Was he seeing what his brother had for so many years? Of all of Rhaenys' cousins, she and Arianne looked the most alike.

 _She's the heir to Sunspear and Dorne,_ he reminded himself. _And still unwed._ After all this is over, Jon was certain that many highborn men in Westeros would cast themselves at her skirts. To be the prince consort of the Queen of Westero's cousin wasn't any a small feat. _And you're just a bastard_. 

Suddenly, a voice jolted him from his thoughts. "Fancy the view?" With the guiltiness of a person caught, Jon turned away from the bow. Tyrion Lannister was looked up at him, quite amused. There was no hiding from this man; despite his height, he had the sight of a giant.

"Rhaenys asked me to look over her," Jon hastily replied.

"I've seen you looking over her," Tyrion remarked, even more amused. "It's fair to say that you're doing well."

Jon felt the sudden heat upon his face. His tongue felt tangled, and he hadn't words in defense for himself. "There's no time that," he finally said. "We're only a few days from King's Landing."

"Quite so," Tyrion agreed, looking to the beckoning horizon once more. "Deep in the throes of siege, I would hope. This plan of ours has a girth of a soft underbelly. A stumble too many could spell its end." An ambitious plan for an ambitious victory; anything less, and they would be at war for gods know how much longer. "But," Tyrion continued. "As it happens, Queen Rhaenys has a will of iron and a faith of gold."

Of course she did. How else did she find the strength to keep standing? But even after all that, Jon wished with all his heart her stubbornness didn't match that strength. He wished she hadn't left so suddenly-- not just for her sake, but his as well, as selfish as that seemed. Death had left him feeling hollow and strange, melancholic almost, as if Gerold Dayne's dagger had bled some light from him. Rhaenys helped to keep some light around. "Something the matter?" Tyrion asked.

"Rhaenys is just so...impulsive," Jon replied. "She'll make more trouble for herself if she doesn't try for a tether."

"Watch yourself Jon Snow," Arianne Martell called out, as she joined them at the spar deck. Underneath her cloak, she was dressed in a gown of yellow wool and mottled cream sandsilk. An ornate snake of gold and copper scales coiled around her neck, but there was nothing more golden than her sly smile. "That is my cousin you're speaking of."

"Then you know how difficult she can be."

The princess laughed, a sweet sound that made his heart flutter. "Oh, do I," she grinned. "But the first Rhaenys was said to be impulsive, as well as kind, playful, curious, mischievous, beautiful…perhaps she had been reborn with the face of a Dornish girl."

"The first Rhaenys did meet her end in Dorne," Tyrion remarked. "It would seem poetically befitting. Rhaegar must have seen it, as well." Something dark crossed Arianne's features at the mention of Rhaegar Targaryen. Jon knew no one of House Martell paid the highest regards to the dragon prince's memory, and he did not blame them. Tyrion, of course, noticed the princess's dark look. "What I mean is," he began hastily. "I wondered why he named his first-born daughter for the second one. He seemed keen on naming three children for the Conqueror and his sisters."

"You'll find that many have long given up on the matter of Rhaegar's mind," Arianne said airily. "I wouldn't name him an idol of good sense."

"Neither would I," Tyrion agreed. As he spoke, Petyr Baelish came down from the forecastle, smiling and stroking his pointed beard as he did. Tyrion watched him like a hawk. "Pardon me. I have matters to attend to," he said, but not before giving Jon a subtle look before he left.

Jon stared back out to the sea again, but Arianne had been peering up at him; he swore he could've felt her dark eyes burning into him. "It would have been safer if you remained at Dragonstone," he idly remarked.

"Safer?" Arianne scoffed. "I didn't leave Sunspear to be safe else where." For a moment, Jon feared he had offended her. He tore his gaze from the water, to stumble over words of forgiveness; but she was smiling. "Besides, I feel most safe with the White Wolf." The name had followed him from Winterfell, down the White Knife and Narrow Sea to Dragonstone. Jon wasn't even sure where the it had came from, or who had been the first to call him that. "With a name like that, any man would be pleased," Arianne remarked, heeding his silence. "Lest I should take your brooding for rampant joy?"

That kindled a smile from Jon. "My name is Snow. A name meant to be condemned, not adorned."

"The people who thought to shun you saw the greatness of you. Everyone in this world is given a name. Only a few could be so lucky to earn another." Arianne lulled, looking thoughtful. "Or unlucky, in regards of the Kingslayer, the Cruel, or the Unworthy." The Dornish princess' claim made him bashful; as if the presence of her hadn't been enough.

"Princess Elia was called the Sun of Dorne," Jon remembered. Rhaenys had told him, as her uncle Oberyn told her. Everything his good-sister knew of her mother had all come from the mouths of others. When he was a boy, Jon had been envious-- at least those others spoke freely and fondly of her mother. But as he grew older, he knew that was nothing to covet.

"She was," Arianne agreed. "In our lands, Elia was a rare woman, or so i've been told." As she spoke, she became more bitter. "She was a flower without thorns, and what did the noble Prince Rhaegar do? He plucked her petals and left her in the dark."

 _Her and Lyanna_ , Jon thought. "I'm sorry."

Her bold dark eyes were shining in the bright daylight. "None of what happened is yours to forgive. Neither is it mine to accept. Rhaenys was the one to had to grow without her doting mother. As did you?"

Jon wasn't sure if his mother, for the brief moments they shared together, ever doted on him. "I don't know her name. I don't know if she was common or noble. I don't even know if she's alive or dead." In his dreams, at the least, she was beautiful and highborn, with kind eyes that did love him. She must have been dead, for she felt like a ghost, a rush of warm wind that left him sad when she was gone. "My father promised he'd tell me about her one day, but that day will never come."

"We all yearn for days that will never come. Is it not a better use of time to dwell on what's in front of us?"

"It is much better."

"It'll be a noble time," Arianne promised. "Rhaenys shall be Queen of Westeros, Robb her fair consort. I will inherit my father's seat someday. What will become of Jon Snow?"

"I know not, princess." It was Winterfell Jon yearned for, but what life would he lead there now? Sansa would rule until Rickon became of age, or until Bran returned. Or perhaps she would continue, while Arya would be... Arya. He missed that brave little skinny thing most of all. His heart ached but it remembered. He knew not of what became of Catelyn Stark-- only that she was alive. It wouldn't be like her to forget either. Would it be an even more woeful slight that her lord-husband had died in the South, but his southron bastard did not? _Let her have her peace at Winterfell at last_. Jon thought. "Perhaps i'll join Rhaenys' Queensguard."

"A white cloak for the White Wolf? Rhae will make you Lord Commander in a heart's beat." Arianne tilted her head ever so sightly. "But their vows speak of taking no wife and fathering no children."

"I know." It was a prospect Jon was no stranger to. It hadn't bothered him when he thought of taking the black. "It seems like a noble thing for a bastard to uphold."

"I heard bastards are a garish shame in the North. I've yet to see what shame you've brought into the world."

It was different in Dorne, Jon knew. The princess, with eight bastards cousins of her own, would have no care for who was born on what side of a blanket. Thinking of that should not have pleased him in any way. "Men oft said that bastard children are born from lust and lies, and it's in our nature to be wanton and treacherous."

Arianne gave him a wry smile. "Pale men say the same of us Dornish. Especially our women."

"You're not like that," Jon said steadfastly.

"And neither are you." Arianne closed the maddeningly short breadth between them. Jon could smell the orchid scent of her hair, a sweetness so dark and earthy. "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken," she said. "A promise to our enemies, a challenge to our lovers.” Her smile turned sly. "I'm sure your brother has learned that quite well. I daresay you've much to learn as well."

As she walked away, joining Daenerys at the bow, Jon felt the heat flush his cheeks; but at the same time, a bit of light returned to him.

\---

Atop her mount, Rhaenys watched the wicked currents of the Blackwater Rush. In the trailing end of the twilight, the river looked black indeed, deep and treacherous as its waters surged east. Cold air drifted up from it like smoke-- a sign of what was coming. Rhaenys breathed out a plume of her own shivering breath. The days were grower shorter and grayer-- and colder, most of all. From Duskendale, they had chosen a western path, away from the Rosby road, and away from the Kingsroad, away from any Lannister dogs that were sent to search for their golden knight. A longer path, but now that they were only a few days's ride from King's Landing, it mattered not. Winter would be upon the crownlands as soon as soon. They'd be lucky if they beat it.

A dragon's gritty purr cut through the river's own tumult. After she had her belly's fill of river pike, Sonaral had claimed her spot for the night, along the shore and close to camp. With another cold sigh, Rhaenys led her horse away from the river, trotting a short distance back to the camp. The vast encampment unfurled a great distance along the banks of the Blackwater, calling for a great number of sentries and outriders. With the approaching night came the crackling of small fires, smell of roasting meat, and the sounds of light laughter and relaxed conversation. Once at the heart of the camp, Rhaenys carefully dismounted, and a young squire came to collect the mare's reins from her. No sooner did her boots hit the ground, the most recent of the outriders approached her, headed by Ser Rolly Duckfield. "All is well around here, Your Grace," he announced. Given how close they were to the capital, it was quite a relief. "And i've already seen to the watchers for the night."

"Thank you, ser," Rhaenys replied, and the knight dipped his head. "Take your rest now, all of you." She wished to retire early that night; herself however, the closer they got to King's Landing, the more nightmares she seemed to have. She sighed, glancing through the many faces. _Where's Robb?_ Grey Wind was no where to be seen as well. Rhaenys roamed through the camp, seeing everyone she knew-- including Jaime Lannister, who was granted a meager tent surrounded by guards. He was still sitting outside of it, upon a tree stump, a bowl of stew resting precariously on his lap. His golden hand did its best to steady it, but it seemed like clumsy work. Rhaenys was eager to ignore him, as she had every day since they left Duskendale. However, there was the matter she had yet to attend too, and it was useless to spurn it for another day, especially when King's Landing was drawing near.

"Ser Jaime," she greeted, and his head lifted up at once.

"My lady," he replied, a bit surprised, dropping the spoon into the bowl and setting it beside the tree stump. "What do I owe this pleasure to?"

 _Your own folly_. "I'm letting you go back to Cersei."

Jaime sat up a bit straighter, a bit more surprised. "Doesn't seem wise..." he remarked. "Letting a prisoner go free."

"To put it nicely, you're useless to me," Rhaenys went on. "I'm not so naive to believe that your life is worth an entire kingdom. You can tell Cersei and Tywin all you've seen, but it won't matter." _Tell them everything, actually, and you wouldn't even speak the half of it._ "I've already told you that we're not seeking out bargains or truces. _You can die with the woman you love. Maybe you at least deserve that_. But Jaime still looked uncertain, perhaps wondering if there was a trick or snare in any of it.

"You love Cersei very much, don't you?" asked Rhaenys. His emerald green eyes seemed to yearn, and he only nodded. No words from him, no urge to justify. "It wouldn't have mattered if your name was Targaryen. You said it yourself...we don't get to choose who we love, but others can't choose for us, either. We want who we want. That has never changed." Remembering her graces, she dipped her head politely and went along her way.

At the very edge of the camp, closer to the woods, she found Lord Rykker speaking with Ser Davos, the latter clutching a brightly lit lantern. "Have either of you seen--"

"His Grace went into the forest," Rykker replied at once. "Following that wolf of his." Rhaenys looked to the dark mouth of the forest, where beyond it grew denser with pines and alders. It wasn't like Robb to wander. Lord Rykker mentioned something else, but Rhaenys had caught a glimpse of a moving shadow that came to them so quickly, the lords barely had anytime to reaction-- lucky for them, it was only Grey Wind. He padded out from between the trees, his yellow eyes glinting in the light of Ser Davos' lantern.

"He's come for you," Ser Davos mused, as the direwolf treaded over to her, bunting her hand with his enormous head. Rhaenys pressed her smiling lips together, remembering the Dornish outrage that considered her betrothal to be no better than throwing her to the wolves.

"Then I should be on my way," she said. She noticed Lord Rykker readying to say something, perhaps something about taking a guard, but Davos carefully handed her his lantern, and smiled kindly.

"Not because I think you afraid of the dark," he said. "But to give those terrors a chance to flee when they catch a glimpse of you." Rhaenys smiled. A month had been all she needed to grow even more fond of the Onion Knight. She hoped to find him a place in what would be a fledging of her court; her future ward Shireen Baratheon would surely be happier for it.

As Grey Wind led her through the woods, cold winds began to stir the trees awake. All around them, they groaned and creaked, their leaves sighing. The direwolf was sure-footed in their path, keeping to Rhaenys' side most patiently as her saddle sore legs slowed her gait. After the last light of the grey day was swallowed by the west, throwing the world into darkness, she found Robb; he was knelt before a weirwood.

Once, weirwoods were anything but strangers in the south; then the Andals came with their new gods and put the old ones to axe and flame. Rhaenys kept a distance, as to not disturb Robb's prayer. The old gods were always his gods. He said wedding vows in a sept and saw his children named in the light of the Seven, all for her sake, but the blood of the First Men still flowed in the veins of the Starks. Rhaenys wondered if Ned and Elia would pray to the old gods as well. There was no law that would force them to choose the old over the new.

Another cold breeze stirred the rich smells of the earth and loam, and the little lonely weirwood seemed to beckon to her, especially as the moonlight painted a stroke of silver across the slender white limbs. A cold wind rustled the dark leaves as Rhaenys approached the tree. At once, Robb looked over his shoulder, smiling as he saw her. He seemed more at peace; that heartened her. Robb had his spite against the gods old and new, as did she. Now, things could turn anew. He offered her his hand, and she carefully set the lantern at the roots before going to her knees. Though this weirwood had no face, she could still feel the old gods watching with a thousand unseen eyes.

For a long moment, there were only the sounds of the murmuring wind and the rush of the Blackwater. Rhaenys prayed, as reverently as she would to the Seven. She prayed for her little Ned and Elia, now nearly three moons old. She prayed for Robb. She prayed for Lady Catelyn, for Edmure Tully, Roslin, and Axel. For Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. For Jon, Daenerys, and Tyrion. For Oberyn, Doran, and Ellaria Sand. For Arianne, and rest of her cousins, bastard and baseborn. She even prayed a bit for Jamie Lannister, for the good still left in him. She prayed for Lyanna Stark's son, wherever he may be.

Suddenly, Rhaeny shivered, not for any reason she could think of, but it was as though someone had overturned a basin of freezing water upon her head. Her eyes flew open, but there was only the night, and the dim glow of the lantern. The weirwood has no face nor eyes, but the heavy burning gaze of something lingered. It felt like a thousand eyes staring into her. It wasn't the old gods she feared; it might have been something they were trying to tell her.

\---

Further east along the Blackwater Rush, the lands began to roll with soft hills. After another four days of riding, it became a great dale, and the river seemed to grow in girth and ferocity. Rhaenys felt more vulnerable upon these higher grounds; King's Landing couldn't have been so far away then. Despite that, she had to stay the urge to break from the host, to spur her mount along those highlands, perhaps race her dragon, who had been flying low. Then, somewhere from the throng of men, Jaime Lannister called out: "you can see it from beyond there."

Something heavy and dreadful dropped into her belly. Rhaenys spurred her horse up the hill Jaime had indicated, Robb following closely at her flank. Near the edge of the dale, there it was, as Jaime said. She couldn't take her eyes away from the sweeping city-- a rough square defended by towering walls, covering the whole northern shore of the Blackwater Rush. The three tall hills, named for Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys, rose tall among the sprawls of countless and cramped structures. Atop Rhaenys' Hill was an immense ruined domed castle-- the Dragonpit, where the Targaryens dragons of old once dwelled and dwindled. More ruins were upon Visenya's Hill, where the Great Sept of Baelor once stood. At the furthest end of the city, at the shores of the Blackwater, was Aegon's High Hill, where the Red Keep rose in red bricks and splendor. A strange feeling loomed. _That was home,_ Rhaenys thought bitterly. But, she only saw the unkept grave of Aegon the Conquerer's shining dream.

"We lost so much down there," she said quietly to Robb.

When she looked at him, his gaze was hard, especially upon the blackened pile of ruin upon Visenya's Hill. Rhaenys would never admit it to just anyone, but she was glad the sept burned. "We won't ever again," Robb vowed. He then looked to the high bourns of the city, the gates where their men meant to siege. Meanwhile, Rhaenys took a deep breath. Now seemed like a proper time...

"Ser Davos," she called out, and the Onion Knight spurred her way. "Let him go now. The horse is his to ride."

"Aye, Your Grace," Ser Davos complied, returning to where Jaime anxiously awaited. As it was being done with, Rhaenys stared out to the pale blue horizon of Blackwater Bay. If they had done everything correctly, the shores would be lined with the great fleet, an assault guising another assault. By land, sea, and sky, King's Landing should be theirs for the taking.

At the sound of an approaching horse, Rhaenys whipped her head around and saw Jaime. Behind him, several man snapped angrily at him and flashed their steel, some spurred to block him with their horses. "I am unarmed," Jaime reminded them and Robb, halting the mount beside Rhaenys. She eyed him carefully, as he joined her watch of King's Landing. She had expected Jaime to careen his way down the slope, but he began to speak. "Ned Stark took you upon his horse, and rode for the Mud Gate." He pointed to the Red Keep, then to the gate near Blackwater Rush. "I imagine from there, he boarded one of his allies' few ships, sailing south to Sunspear."

Rhaenys did not remember much of her first journey to Sunpear, guarded by a wolf of Winterfell. But she did remember his kind grey eyes, and his grey cloak, which he had ripped from his own back to swaddle her with. Some years later, his own son would drape another grey cloak upon her back. "I don't think...I ever thanked him properly..." she realized. She felt Robb's hand upon hers, but it was Jaime who spoke again:

"I'm sure you did. Just not with words."

Rhaenys gave him an stony look. "It isn't your duty to put my mind to rest."

Jaime shrugged, thinking less of it, which seemed just as odd. "Had my mother lived, you might have been my daughter." An interesting prospect, one that Rhaenys would rather not contemplate. "Did either of your uncles ever speak of Princess Loreza's high plans?"

"Oberyn told me." Her grandmother Loreza had known Joanna Lannister when they both served as Rhaella's handmaids. According to her uncle, the two had planned to either wed Elia to Jaime, or Oberyn to Cersei. But the Lady of Casterly Rock died in the birthing bed, and Lord Tywin refused any word of Martell and Lannister betrothal, making it plain that Cersei was meant for Rhaegar, and caused further insult by offering the infant Tyrion to Elia. "But what does it matter? A man who stole away a young girl, or a man who beds his sister? There wasn't any justice for my mother in this world."

"No," Jaime agreed, and he seemed sad for it. "But there must be some justice in knowing that her daughter's mount is a dragon." He dipped his head. "Farewell, my lady."

"Goodbye, Ser Jaime."

At last, he turned his horse around, to the trampled path that snaked down the sheer slope. Once Jaime was no longer in her sight, Rhaenys looked back to Robb, then to the men waiting for her. Many had already gathered atop the hill, knowing their time of clash was near. Her heart was pounding, tossing this way and that in a sea of dread. This had truly become everything. She could not be afraid, even though she was terrified. _But what for?_ Something within her asked. _You've survived all of this. You've endured so much and more_.Rhaenys held her head high, and spoke. "Shall we begin?"

\---

Out in the stillness of a gentle snowfall, Sansa sat beneath the heart tree with her brother and his direwolf. The sight of the wolf's silvery fur stirred memories of her own sweet Lady, long dead from the spite of Cersei Lannister. Sansa stifled a sigh, returning her gaze upon her quiet brother. He was twelve now, thirteen on his next nameday. His gentle boyish voice had deepened, as what happened with all boys eventually. It was so strange to see Bran again-- the last Sansa did, he was in his heavy sleep, broken and guarded fervently by their mother. Now, their mother was still south. He was awake. His legs would be forever limp and useless, but he was not as broken as an outsider would think. Sansa watched Bran as he watched the unseeing eyes of the heart tree. No sooner when he and his two companions reached Winterfell's courtyard, he had asked Hodor to take him to the godswood. Sansa had want to protest, to take him inside and have the maester tend to him, but the sad green eyes of Meera Reed beseeched her first.

"You must have so many questions," Sansa remarked. Bran's eyes came away from the tree's. "You've been a long way, for so long." Osha had told her that he went north; the true north, as she called it, but gave no reason as to why he would, "So much has happened."

"I know," said Bran. He looked down to the frozen black pool first. Then his eyes lifted to the gnarled and frosted tree tops, and towards where Winterfell's grey towers rose. "I know Rhaenys is queen, and Robb her king." He smiled, the same sweet smile Sansa remembered. "She'll be a good queen. Like Alysanne." He must have heard it from a northern town, Sansa supposed. All the North knew who their true queen was. "It should be," Bran continued. "That a dragon and a wolf guide these lands through the Long Winter."

Long summers spilled into long winters; their father had oft said, but the way Bran made it sound...it was a lot more than just a long season of winter. Sansa stared at him, dying to ask him where he had been for so long; but those sort of tales took time, as she knew very well. For now, there were other matters to attend to. "Now that Robb's king," she said. "You're the Lord of Winterfell."

But Bran shook his head. "I can't be."

Sansa furrowed her brow. There was no reason that would be. He had already been lord once, in Robb's stead. No true northerner would dare to mock him for being crippled. "You're Father's second trueborn son," she tried again. "His rightful heir."

Bran shook his head again. "I can't be Lord of Winterfell, or lord of anything." He glanced back to the face of the weirwood, which to Sansa, had seemed a bit more crueler upon her return home. "I'm to be the three-eyed crow now." He had said it so solemnly, that even the godswood seemed to pay him reverence-- the chirping snow shrikes had suddenly quieted, and the winds that whispered through the canopy stilled. Through the falling snow, Sansa kept staring her little brother. A long time ago, she had known a boy who loved to laugh and climb, and dreamt of knighthood above all else-- like many things from her old life, he was gone too.

"Bran, what does that mean?" She shifted closer to him. "Please, tell me."

Bran lifted a hand to reach out to the white bark of the heart tree. "After I fell, I dreamt a crow with a third eye. Even when I woke, he kept calling to me, then he guided me to a heart of the north where he remained. He taught me how to fly. Now, I am him." His fingers traced the dark furrows of the tree's wood. "He has a thousand eyes and one, and much to watch. One day, I will too."

Sansa shook her head, desperately trying to make sense of his otherworldly words. Who was he? A crow? Who knew to guide and teach? Three eyes or a thousand? "I don't understand," she fretted.

"Don't worry. I didn't either." Bran's hand fell away from the tree, unto his lap. "There's a war coming, Sansa."

Sansa stiffened. "The war is nearly over. Robb and Rhaenys are in the crownlands, perhaps King's Landing at this moment--"

"No. There's another. Greater and more terrible. We have to be ready." He once again looked to the face, though all the answers were trapped between its lips of wood. "I have to be ready."

"Another war?" _No_ , Sansa wanted to pled. _No more wars_. "Between who?"

"The living and the dead."

Sansa wanted to take her brother by his shoulder and shake him awake, to rouse from whatever held him prisoner in such a dark world where such a thing could happen. "Is that what the crow told you?" She demanded.

"No. He _showed_ me." Bran's blue eyes were wide as he spoke of it. "The Others...the White Walkers. They're not stories, Sansa. They're real, and they are hundreds of them. Tall and gaunt, with flesh as pale as milk, blood as blue as the sky, and bones as bright as milkglass. They wield swords and spears of crystal and moonlight. They are alive, but not living as we know it. Then there's the wights, a rising tide of living dead men with black hands and blue eyes. A legion ruled by one... the Night King. He is marching south, and he brings death. His is a darkness that will devour the dawn."

What Bran spoke of was richer than any story Sansa had ever heard. It seemed so real, something that not even a mad man could conjure. He gave her a sad smile. "I know. It's unfair. One war to another. Summer wasn't even that long ago, but it feels years and years gone. The children are still children. It hurts me, that it's another burden for Rhaenys to share...I wish it wasn't, truly. Her own babes are still in their cradle."

Sansa furrowed her brow, startled. She'd yet to speak of their niece and nephew. "I didn't tell you--"

"About Ned and Elia?" Sansa's blood chilled. "I'm sure you were going to. There is still so much to talk about." His smile sweetened. "They're quite sweet aren't they? They've our brother's eyes, and their mother's curls. Born just after a dawn...Elia had been a surprise, to all of their delight."

It was as though he had read every word of Robb's letter from Riverrun, which Sansa had tucked away safety between the pages of a book in her chambers. How could have Bran known? But then, Sansa had watched Rhaenys emerge from a blazing pyre unburnt, with a dragon babe perched upon her shoulder. There was still magic in the world, she had seen it for herself, and perhaps things even stranger as well. Perhaps she had no right to doubt her brother's speak of White Walkers and three-eyed crows.

"Bran, tell me more about this great war."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen HBO, you had no right to turn Bran into an emotionless husk.
> 
> I've been working on this chapter for so freaking long. I'm glad its done with. :D


	85. a clash of queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For the first time in over a hundred years, there were dragons in King's Landing."

The winter sun rose upon a fourth day of siege, and its dark grey dawn brought a terrible chill, leeching color and warmth from the lands. The seamstresses and armorers at Duskendale had prepared Rhaenys well for such days. On that day, she donned a dress of black lambswool, its bodice alternating stripes of black and dark-red boiled leather. The skirts fell just to the ankles of her knee high boots, with a pair of slits cut to her thighs to allow her to easily mount. Underneath, she wore fitted breeches of fur-lined black leather. A collar of grey fur was attached to a darkened gorget, which was affixed with small overlapping steel scales to resemble those of a dragon's skin. Bracers etched with dragons twisting around suns concealed a pair of short slender draggers. Last of all was Fyreheart, its scabbard fastened to her waist. A dragon queen fitted for winter, as strong and stern as steel. 

Rhaenys stepped out of the tent, startled by how bitterly cold it was. Perhaps it did not help that the camp was fanned out upon a face and plain of moorlands that surrounded King's Landing, vulnerable to winds from the hills and Blackwater Bay. But, it was high enough to overlook most of the hue and cry of the siege. Given the vastness of the city, it took three separate hosts, each one commanded by Robb, Lord Connington, Lord Rykker. Rykker's overlooked the King's Gate, while Connington's oversaw both the Lion's Gate and the Gate of the Gods. Robb's stayed between the Old Gate and the Dragon's Gate. It took nearly the full strength of their army, but so far, no gold cloak or Lannister man had broken the siege lines. It also helped that a dragon was in full sight of the city, especially the Red Keep.

Rhaenys weaved in and out of ruddy faced men, whose breaths fogged in the air as they greeted her. Many gathered by the cook fires, seeking warmth, shares of roasted hare, and warmed ale. Though perhaps unwise, she had no desire to break her fast. She walked a short way from came, where Sonaral kept her own watch upon King's Landing while clawing restlessly at the browning grass with curved talons. Rhaenys called out sweetly to her, and only then did the dragon swept her massive head away from the city, looking upon her with smoldering pools of sapphire eyes. "I know," she murmured, stroking Sonaral's snout. The heat of her scales warmed Rhaenys even through the leather of her gloves. "Waiting is hard." The dragon snorted, exhaling a fog of hot air from her nostrils as she rested her head upon the ground. "There's no need to pout," Rhaenys remarked lightly. 

Then, a shrill crow's cry caught her attention; the lone black bird landed a few feet away, pecking at the grass with its shiny beak. Rhaenys didn't think much of the creature, until Grey Wind came bolting her way, frightening off the crow with a snarl and snap of his jaws. Sometimes, he would chase off birds in a moment of playfulness, but there was nothing playful about him. "Grey Wind!" She chided, as the wolf slunk to her. "It's only a crow." He barked, his tail still lashing in agitation. But there was more to it, Rhaenys knew. Robb had returned to her with a strange disdain for crows as well. 

Her gaze wandered back to King's Landing. The city would soon be full of crows, lured by the stench of death and promises of a feast. Rhaenys hoped she would never have to feast crows again after that; but really, only the gods knew. She looked past the high walls, to the far corner of the city near Blackwater Bay. Even so far, it was plain to see-- the Red Keep, a seven pointed red crown atop the brow of Aegon's High Hill. A seething grief reared its head, and she quickly turned away, striding back to the camp. Her nightmares had changed the first night spent upon that moor. A castle with screaming walls, of both woman and babe. The terrible feeling of being hunted, and the pain of something taken. 

Suddenly, Rhaenys felt someone take her by the waist and spin her around. "Robb!" She cried, trying hard to frown upon his laughing face. "You scared me!" He was clad in boiled leather, ringmail, and dark grey plate armor, and her soft clout against his chest only made him laugh. 

But then he held up a flower, a wild rose of pale pink, and all was forgiven at once. "My apologies," Robb smiled as he offered it to her. She carefully took it, as if it was made from spun glass. A flower of any kind was a precious thing to find, in the throes of a siege and creeping winter. "There's a brush of them near the siege line," he told her, brushing his fingertips along the scales upon her gorget. "The rest had all withered."

Rhaenys saw the rose's petals, how the edges were already starting to blacken and curl from the cold. "Better that than to be trampled."

"I suppose... some deaths are better than others." His arm curled tighter around her waist. The mere mention of death was enough to agitate them both; an impeding battle of such commanding consequence did little to ease. Rhaenys nestled against him, uncomplainingly ignoring the rough prods of steel and armor to press her cheek to his chest. 

"Don't speak of death," she murmured. "We have two little babes waiting for us, and a long life to know." 

"Aye." Rhaenys felt his soft kiss upon her brow. "When this is all over, we'll go and bring them home." 

The air stirred as Sonaral lifted her head to the sky, west towards Blackwater Bay. Out in the distance, there was a beat of thunder, yet at the same time, it wasn't. The sky had since grown thick with grey clouds, but Rhaenys espied something darker coming their way, and she grinned, drawing away from Robb. "It's about time you met my aunt," she remarked, pulling him along and towards the vast open lowland. Overhead, the dragon grew larger and blacker-- Drogon, the Black Dread reborn, and when he landed, the earth shook. His colossal size was both terrifying and breathtaking, easily surpassing Sonaral and both of this brothers. To think, this dragon still had more to grow.

Drogon kept low to the plains, allowing his rider to dismount as his smoldering hellfire eyes swept through the strange new lands. And for the first time, Daenerys Stormborn stepped onto the true continent. She donned a black gown with hooded shoulders hemmed in blood-red thread, and an intricate blacken breastplate that covered her from collar to bodice. A cold wind stirred loose strands from her ornate silver braid, and blotted her porcelain cheeks with pink. 

"Rhaenys!" Dany grinned, as they met in an embrace, kindling a growing fondness. Two heads of the dragon. But there is a third, Rhaenys remembered, forever baffled as to how-- but that was for another day. As their hug loosened, her aunt's eyes went past her, watching as Robb approached. "So you're the wolf?"

Robb smiled. "It's an honor to meet you at last, princess."

"Daenerys," she corrected him warmly. "I'm an aunt to your children. We're family now." Then, her tone turned solemn, her fingers neatly laced together as she spoke again. "I know Rhaenys was left to pay for my father's crimes against your family, but it's only fair as Aerys' daughter that I offer my own forgiveness."

"The sins of Aerys and Rhaegar were theirs alone," Robb replied. "You and Rhae never had anything to forgive." His shoulder brushed against Rhaenys', and she felt his palm rest unto the small of her back. She could tell he was growing anxious. "You've brought us good news, I hope."

"As good as this morning can bring." Daenerys looked back towards the bay. "The fleet should be there before midday. Men are already waiting at the Kingswood to take the River Gate. I've also sent a host of Dothraki and Unsullied to join yours, Rhae. Grey Worm commands the Unsullied. Prince Oberyn is with them as well, leading them south along the Rosby road." Rhaenys was glad to hear-- it was a joyful relief to know that her uncle would be by her side. She wasn't quite sure about the Dothraki, though she was no stranger to them, having encountered them back in Daenerys' court in Meereen, but with their terribly fearsome appearance, it took much bravery just to glance up upon them. "The khalasar know we share blood," Dany reassured her. "The Dothraki follow only the strong. They will follow you."

Daenerys had brought quite a magnificent army to Westeros, meant to retake the Iron Throne for herself. It still must have hurt her. "Thank you, Daenerys," Rhaenys said, as heartfelt as she could have made it known. 

"I should let Connington and Rykker know," Robb remarked. "We'll start rallying the men to storm the city."

"Alright," Rhaenys agreed, though her heart was already half-brimming with dread. _Not yet,_ she wanted to say, but _gods_ haven't they waited long enough? It wasn't a time to be foolish and frightened. 

"We'll meet again, Daenerys," Robb said, nodding respectfully. His hand fell away from Rhaenys' back, to grasp her wrist in a brief reassuring moment; she had nearly forgotten about the pink rose in her hand. "I won't be long, Rhae." His voice was noble, but it was laced with a still unease. She watched his back as he vanished from sight, into the throng of men who gathered to espy the new dragon. 

"You've quite the king in him," Dany murmured. "And husband. I'm glad his death was fallacy." She looked out to the moors, down the slope to King's Landing. "The Starks and Targaryens have been allies for centuries, but I can see how their union can spell out a prosperous reign. Only good can come from a queen and king who love each other."

"I suppose our lives would have been different, had our fathers loved their wives."

Daenerys pressed her lips together. "Prince Oberyn told me what Viserys was too young to know, or remember..." She ambled a few steps forward, and Rhaenys followed, until they both came to a soft swell, just near the steep of the moor. Amethyst eyes swept over the scape, and just as Rhaenys did the first time, her gaze harshen, and came to rest upon the pale red castle. "We never got to have our mothers, but we could almost be their ghosts." It was a peculiar sentiment to dwell on, one that certainly made Rhaenys smile sadly. Perhaps if a stranger, one old enough to remember, were to come across them upon that hill, they would swear to have seen the ghosts of Elia Martell and Rhaella Targaryen, spurning eternal rest in favor of vengeance. 

"The Lannisters stole from dragons, and dragons remember," Dany said quietly, reaching to take Rhaenys' hand into her own. "We'll show them the meaning of our words."

As Daenerys returned to _Meraxes_ upon Drogon's back, the winds changed, blowing from the north, exhaling a cold worthy of an ice dragon's breath. High above Rhaenys' head, a canopy of slate clouds hung heavy and ominous, shading the lands with a grey-blue. She turned away from King's Landing; she was done with looking at the city. It was time to claim it, and act upon her burning desire to take the Seven Kingdoms' gaoler by her pale throat. 

The time came quicker than she would have thought, after years of dreaming of it. It was a dream that came with a price, the price of the Iron Throne. Rhaenys had been reminded of that price a countless times. She was reminded of it a countless time and one when Robb grabbed her waist to pull her close and kiss her, in the full sight of a host of mounted men. When he drew away, there was something poignant in his loving gaze. Rhaenys had become familiar with it the day he left Winterfell; and the day she watched him die. "Robb..." 

But he shook his head, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. His gaze was fierce and tender all at once. The blue of winter, not of the Tullys' rivers; he was a Stark of the North, after all. "After the Whispering Woods were fought and won, nothing mattered to me more than when I saw you ride out from those trees. It didn't matter that I saw my friends die, or that I was close to joining them. It didn't even matter that it was my first battle won. I saw all the darkness of the world upon that battlefield, but the sight of you reminded me that there is light." Robb's thumb brushed against the soft curve of her lip. "Don't let anyone take that light from you, Rhaenys."

There were tears on her cheeks, but she was smiling. " _Nuha ōnos, nuho prūmiā iksā._ " She touched her brow to his. "My light, you are in my heart."

\---

Northeast of King's Landing, less than half a mile up the Rosby road, Rhaenys and her men awaited the distinct war cry. Far away from the onslaught of the city, it were eerily quiet, peaceful nearly, as the waters of Blackwater Bay gently lapped upon the shore beside the road. Rhaenys stood next to her uncle Oberyn, who was already mounted atop his stallion. Ser Davos Seaworth also remained close to her, as did a few of the Golden Company knights. Fanned out behind them were some few hundred men. As Daenerys promised, a great number of Dothraki screamers and Unsullied joined her host. The Unsullied were was quiet as mice, but the Dothraki spoke freely in their harsh rough tongue to one another, eyeing Rhaenys with some indifference, some curiosity. 

"The ships come," Grey Worm said, and Rhaenys looked behind her to Blackwater Bay, espying a countless scatter of tiny dark shadows emerging at the grey horizon. Cersei's own royal fleet had been moved to protect the bay, but it was plain to see that it would be a vain attempt. Rhaenys turned to glance upon her uncle, thinking to see a viper's sly smile upon his face, but he was glaring most sullenly upon the distant Red Keep. 

"Uncle, is something wrong?"

He spoke without so much looking at her, his voice seeping with venom, dark viper eyes glaring upon the red spires. "I haven't been in that sty since Elia married Rhaegar. I wish that wasn't so. I should have been there before Tywin's beasts could have ever touched her. I've lusted for this day for so long. I want to bring those who have wronged us to justice, and all those who have wronged us are just over there." 

This was the Red Viper, the man Rhaenys had heard of, but seldom ever saw. Deadly, dangerous, fickle of heart and mind. But his true nature couldn't have disturbed her, so long as it didn't get him killed. "Take your vengeance, but don't let it take you," she beseeched. 

A sad smile came to Prince Oberyn's lined face. He leaned forward in his saddle, and brushed a gentle kiss on her brow. "Remember, you are the blood of Nymeria, the blood of Dorne. Your Targaryen ancestors spoke of blood and fire, but your blood is fire."

And then so it came, a single piercing shriek out from the open bay. The men rallied themselves, some muttering prayers under their breath, some drawing their steel. In a disciplined and well practice motion, the Unsullied struck the ground with their spears, prepared to charge. The Dothraki brandished their curved bows. Rhaenys left them all for a wide patch of ground; she felt their eyes following her, anticipating what was to come. "Sonaral!" She called. 

Her dragon had been circling high above restlessly, close, hidden in the grey of the sky. She descended in a haste, the crack of her leathern wings as sharp as a bolt of thunder, and the earth shuddered beneath. "It's been such a long journey," Rhaenys said to her quietly, laying an open palm against her snout. Sonaral uttered a deep rumble. "You were so small once. I felt small too. I gave myself to the fires that bore you, and we awoke anew in snow and ash." There was a strange feeling to be had from it all-- everything had become so real, and yet, she felt dreamy. But brave; above all, she felt brave. "Let's finish this journey, shall we?"

Rhaenys clambered up Sonaral's wing and onto her back, grasping tightly onto the barbs along her neck. She looked below to where the men watched her. "My mother was taken from me when I was three years old. Raped and murdered by the knight Gregor Clegane, after he killed my brother, a boy barely a year old, by throwing him to a wall. What left of them was swaddled in Lannister banners, and gifted to Robert Baratheon by Tywin Lannister." The Westeroi men had all heard the tragedy before, but never told by Elia Martell's surviving child. They would have never heard it with so much heartache. "But I am not only here for vengeance. Every moment Cersei sits in power, her men and allies are out there serving her in tyranny. This has all gone on long enough... by my will and yours, this shall end today!" The men before her shouted with pride and grit, even those who Rhaenys did not share a language with. They heard the iron in her voice, a queen's vein. 

Sonaral roared, kicking up dead grass and dirt as she took to the air. She kept low, casting a furnace wind to the men beneath, but they did not care. The screaming horde followed the dragon along the last lengths of the Rosby road. Ahead, the Iron Gate rose, an egress of iron and stone flanked by the red walls. Rhaenys saw a few catapults atop the ramparts, loaded with burning stones. Underneath its portcullis was an infantry of men, some already scattering, the rest boldly holding their guard, screeching to one another. Arrows showered upon Rhaenys' host, a few burning stones as well. The arrows barely scathed Sonaral, and she nimbly avoided the stones; Rhaenys heard horses and men screaming as they crashed to the ground. When the Iron Gate was near enough Rhaenys screeched: " _Dracarys!_ "

Fire spat out from Sonaral's jaws, latching onto the gate with a hunger. Rhaenys felt the harsh heat wash over her, though she would not turn her face away. As the stones burned and iron began to melt, the entire gate began to weaken, causing it to collapse and tumble to the ground, crushing many of the guardsmen; the rest met their end by Dothraki arrows. Ere long, the mighty Iron Gate was reduced to ruins. The host braved the licking flames, charging and vaulting over the burning rubble. The street before them was paved with smooth cobblestone, and ran as straight as an arrow between the hills of Rhaenys and Aegon. Stacks and scatters of houses were on either sides of the street. Rhaenys had Sonaral hover just above the ruined gate, watching as the men stormed into the city. 

At the western wall near the Red Keep, she could see Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal, putting a vast section of the red wall to flame. It was Drogon's that outshone all three of the dragons', black fire shot through with red. His two brothers left him to terrorize the skies over the castle, snarling and spitting. Sonaral added her voice with theirs; dragonsong rose above the steel song of men, echoing through the city-- an eldritch herald. 

For the first time in over a hundred years, there were dragons in King's Landing.

\---

The brunt of the fighting was at the heart of the city, a large open square where the streets convened. Rhaenys could have heard the great clamor of it even from so high-- steel biting steel, men screaming and dying, and a wolf snarling. But even louder than that was the sound of her own heart's beat, thumping in her chest and rushing through her ears. Even something as terrible as that clash of queens, it hung in a delicate balance, teetering this way and that; she prayed for it to tip over in her favor. But there was only way to make sure that it did. 

Rhaenys urged Sonaral around, towards the Red Keep.

Down in the dragon's shadow, she espied the men who had stormed the River Gate, now riding for the castle along a street aptly known as the Hook. She also spotted those who swarmed in from the destroyed parts of the wall near the foot of Aegon's Hill. Danys' three dragons soared all about the castle. 

A familiar blur narrowly missed Rhaegal. His brothers flew into a rage, as did his mother. Drogon suddenly flew lower, over where Rhaenys saw the scorpions-- nine of them, laid out in the yards behind the outermost curtain wall. She was sure there were more of them closer to the keep, but before anything else, the men needed a way into the castle grounds. 

The ruling gate of the Red Keep was magnificent, guarded by heavy doors of oak, iron and bronze. At either side of the sinister portcullis were tall towers from where arrows flew down at the charging men below, from ramparts and murderholes. With no further way to go, they were tightly clustered together before the gate, making for easy quarry. " _Dracarys!_ " Rhaenys spat, and Viserion descended to help. 

When that gate was put to fire and ruin as well, the deluge of men continued forward; none of them feared the fire, not anymore if they ever were. A garrison awaited then in a vast courtyard, many in woolen cloaks of gold, others in the suits of House Lannister. Sonaral roared again, a cry that could have shaken the Red Keep to its stones and roots. It certainly rattled the hearts of the enemy men; Rhaenys saw them hesitate, and the brisk moment costed them as her own hosts barraged through. She urged her dragon above and past the smoldering gates. 

The red towers loomed, treacherous with crowns of iron ramparts. Rhaenys scoured the grounds, recalling what Tyrion had told her of the Red Keep's great hall-- a cavernous place with its own seven towers, domed and flanked by gardens. The square fortress that was Maegor's Holdfast rose at the heart of the entire keep, a castle all on its own. Some ways east of the holdfast was a tall domed structure, girded with seven spires. "There!" Rhaenys cried out, urging Sonaral in its direction. They circled around Maegor's Holdfast, its glass-paned windows catching the dragon's reflection. 

Several dead gold cloaks were already scattered before the massive hall. The rest of the hosts had only just breached through to that inner yard, knowing to keep a wide girth as Sonaral landed. Rhaenys leapt down, and several of them rushed to crowd protectively around her with a wall of shields. But her grip found Fyreheart's hilt, and the silver steel rang true. She broke away from them, and they followed her to the great twin oak-and-bronze doors. It took several men to pry even one open. 

Inside was more immense than Rhaenys could've ever dreamed. Rows of brass braziers pierced the grim darkness with snarling flames and warmth, flickering and throwing shadows, casting light upon the guards that lined the walls. The hall itself was aligned north to south, with high narrow windows on the eastern and western walls. The floors were burnished sandstone and marble, polished enough to act as a looking glass to those who stood upon it. A long carpet of red and gold thread mantled a path from the doors to what lay at the far end. Lions glared from all around, from the scarlet-and-gold banners that hung down in rows, echoes of one another, to the great circular iron rings adorned with the Lannister lion, fixed upon the narrow windows. At the southern end, the hall curved into a half-dome which was adorned with a great number of windows. When the sun was high, its golden light would have bathed the iron dais underneath. For now, a pair of braziers at both ends of the dais served in kind, with its quivering orange glow.

Atop the raised dais with high and narrow steps was the Iron Throne. 

And by the gods, it was a _monstrosity_. Wrought only of swords, all taken from the enemies who knelt to Aegon the Conquerer, the steel twisted, tangled, and melted together, forged by the fires of Balerion. Blackened barbs, fanged steel, and jagged edges stuck out at every and all corners, save for the uneven row of steps that led up to the seat-- upon which Cersei Lannister was patiently waiting. 

But Rhaenys did not led the men to charge. She calmly walked along the length of the carpet, as her men followed and their guard never wavered. Seven white cloaks stood guard from the foot of the throne; Rhaenys recognized only one. Even though she avoided his eyes, she stared into them away, in the emerald glare of his twin sister. "My apologizes," said Rhaenys. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

Cersei was clad in a black gown that shrouded her from neck to toe, embroidered with silver thread at the throat and shoulders. Her hair of spun gold had been shorn like a boy's, adorned with a crown of woven silver and gold. The corner of her lip curled as she tapped her tapered fingernail against a ribbon of twisted steel. "Spare me courtesy, Rhaenys," she said. Her voice was still, the hush before a storm. "What have you come to beg of me?"

"I've come for my throne," she replied. "And I haven't come to beg."

Several of the white cloaks snickered. The most boisterous came from a stout man with thin sneering lips, and a pasty pig-like face that Rhaenys found horribly familiar. "This is Ser Lorent Lorch," Cersei said with her own wicked smile. "Cousin to Ser Amory Lorch."

The knight's large watery green eyes grazed her, scowling. Rhaenys met them bravely, faintly recalling the man who dragged her out from under a bed by her foot. "I suppose you'll be joining your cousin in his pig's sty in hell," she remarked. 

A blotchy red came to Ser Lorent's face, revealing a short temper. He opened his thin mouth, perhaps to utter something insulting, but Cersei raised her hand, a silent demand to stay his tongue. "Brazen threats?" She asked wryly. "Is that what you've brought to defend yourself?" 

"They're not threats. They're promises." 

Cersei sneered. "Rhaegar Targaryen's little girl is all grown up now. Jon Arryn and Ned Stark fought so hard preserve your life, and this is how you repay them?"

"I would have stayed in Winterfell for the rest of my life!" Rhaenys retorted. "I'm only here because of you! Your son took my good-father's head, and your father tried to take my husband's heart and mine! And even before all this, he took my mother from me!"

The calm broke and the storm brewed. "Don't whimper to me about loss!" Cersei roared, carving into the stillness of the hall. The lions upon the walls seemed to roar as well. "You murdered my daughter, my only daughter!" 

"I didn't kill her!" Rhaenys averred with intensity, even though she knew it would be wasted. A malicious queen and a grieving mother. It was one that enraged the other, but only the gods knew which was first. 

"You're a spiteful little thing, aren't you? Returning my little girl to me in your accursed banners! Did you mean to mock me?! Or perhaps my father?!" 

But Rhaenys shook her head, wondering why she even bothered. This was the woman who had the whole of Westeros believe that Lord Stark was guilty of treason. "I've no love for your family, but I did not kill Myrcella! I never demanded such a thing!" 

Cersei trailed her fingertip along the flat of a blacken blade. "Myrcella was mine, and you took her from me, but I can't imagine how you could dare to think how it feels. You've never got to be a mother. You're unworthy of that honor, it seems."

 _She didn't know._ Rhaenys unwittingly glanced at Jaime Lannister. The knight met her gaze for a mere pithy moment. He didn't tell Cersei, or Tywin, or anyone in that castle-- else Cersei would have known for a certain. Rhaenys hadn't any idea why Jaime would have done that. Unless he was trying to protect Ned and Elia from his sister's wrath. _But why would he do that?_

Rhaenys heard herself laughing. It felt strange in her throat, given where she was, in a hall were the still eyes of lions gazed down from all around her. Cersei's living stare burned into her, the burning green of wildfire, finally at some unease atop her high throne. "Oh. I have twin babes waiting for me," Rhaenys said gently. "A little son and daughter, both so precious." There had never been a face more malevolent than Cersei Lannister's. Her fingers curled into the barbs of the throne, and Rhaenys saw her hand flinch back as the edge of one pricked her. "Don't you see? You've lost this war a long time ago. Frey and Bolton couldn't kill me or Robb. Your son and father couldn't kill Ned Stark and Elia Martell either. Their memories and names live on in my children. But you... no one will remember you so dearly. You will suffer and I will live." 

Cersei tilted her head up, as though to put Rhaenys even further beneath her. "What I would give," she uttered poisonously. "To carve out your heart and hold it in my hand... but unfortunate as it is, I cannot kill you, not while this wretched kingdom still stands. I need your beating heart for Dorne and the North to kneel. Once they kneel, the rest shall follow." Then she smiled, madly almost. "But i've no need for your whelps. Perhaps i'll have their little heads crushed while you watch. Wouldn't that be poetic?" Cersei rose from the Iron Throne, and slunk down the stairs with her baleful smile. "They say Gregor Clegane had your little brother's blood and brains all over his hands while he raped your mother. They also say her bones shattered as he took her, and after he had his fun, Ser Gregor cracked Elia's skull open like a duck egg--"

Rhaenys screamed, rushing towards Cersei with Fyreheart out, not caring for anything else in the world but to see her dead-- but that was just what Cersei wanted her to do. A sour looking knight with rust-red hair grabbed her by both arms, wrenching her away from the dais, twisting her wrist until she dropped her sword. Behind them, the gold cloaks came away from the shadows to skirmish with Rhaenys' men, while Cersei's own guard shielded her from the fray. "You vile bitch!" Rhaenys spat, as Cersei lurked closer to her. Amused, she took Rhaenys' jaw between her grasp, piercing claw-like nails into the skin. 

"I hope you enjoyed your little game whilst it lasted," Cersei taunted. "It must have felt powerful to not have been a pawn for once in your life. I know the feeling, truly." She crooked her head aside, and the sour knight threw Rhaenys down to the iron dais, inches away from where swords jutted out from the throne. Her face struck the edge of the stair, and iron bells rose in her skull. She thought she heard Jaime utter something, then Cersei something else, but it was lost in the ringing. Rhaenys coughed, and spat out a spray of blood. She groped at the cold iron, pushing herself into an elbow. Then her knees. Fyreheart was far from her reach. Her men were fighting to reach her, but they were being put to rout. More blood trickled from her split lip and down her chin. She feared this was her end. 

Rhaenys lifted her head, blinking through the murk that pounded at her head. Aloft was the Iron Throne, a gaping jaw filled with rows of teeth, staring at her as she stared back. Her grandfather died upon those same stairs, after which, Ser Jaime had brought her there, to sit her upon his knee as he sat upon the throne. Ned Stark rode in, northmen at his back. It was all so odd, that any of that had happened; and now she had returned there. To die?

 _No,_ Rhaenys vowed. She had already died surrounded by her enemies-- she would not die there. She will die with silver streaks in her black hair, when her Young Wolf wasn't so young anymore, when their children's children had children, and when many more winters and summers came to pass. 

She braced against the pleats of the dais, and wrenched around to look upon them. In the orange glow of the brass brazier, Cersei's bright wildfire eyes smoldered-- and it gave Rhaenys an idea. "Your wolf isn't here to protect you, you wretched thing," Cersei mocked. "My father has gone to meet him at last. He'll give me the wolf pelt Walder Frey promised to me."

"Or maybe," Rhaenys rasped, wiping blood from her lip. "Robb will give me a lion's head."

Cersei smiled. "My father is the Great Lion of the Rock. It'll be a wolf's pelt for me. But you will live, if that is what we can call it. The rest of your days shall be in the black cells. You'll never see the sun again...a tragedy for a Dornish girl. You'll live long enough to watch your loved ones rot. You shall have all the time in the world to contemplate your choices, and to live with the truth, that they've all died because of you."

Rhaenys peeled away the glove from her right hand, then the other, staying her black rage in favor of a new plan. "Are you nearly finished?" She asked, carelessly tossing them aside.

Cersei curled her lip. "We are." She turned to one of her knights. "Ser Meryn--"

"No need. I can stand."

Rhaenys struggled to find her footing, or so was what she wanted Cersei and her accursed white cloaks to think. She saw them smirking, caught up in the amusement of how pathetic she must have seemed-- a small price to pay-- but Jaime was quiet. His good hand balled in a taunt fist at his side, while the gold one hung limp. He looked all despaired, though about what, Rhaenys couldn't care any less. She stumbled a bit along the edge iron stair, but then lurched forward, catching herself at the brim of the blazing brazier. She curled her naked fingers around it, taking much delight from how those leering face, even Jaime's stony gaze, turned stupefied. Had anyone else in that hall done that, their palms would've burned and blistered from the hot brass, their fingertips immediately scorched by the licking flames. 

Rhaenys' dark eyes latched onto Cersei, whose sneering glory had already melted away, leaving behind a wroth pale face. _"Lannister va moriot zyha gēlȳnī addemmis,_ " Rhaenys hissed, in the mother tongue of her ancestors, the blood of dragons. _A Lannister always pays his debts._ She then pushed the brazier to the floor, throwing a shower of embers out at them, and spilling flames that eagerly began to devour the threads of the carpet. The white cloaks panicked, crowding around their queen to shield and hurry her from the hungry fire. Lorent Lorch foolishly tried to stamp it out, but the hem of his cloak caught fire. While they were caught up in their hysteria, Rhaenys strode over to the other brazier, and shoved it down to the carpet as well. "Did you think to threaten me and my family, and live?" She demanded, as fire rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was SO hard to write. Mostly because, it was a long awaited chapter (I would think), and there are high expectations (from myself, to do it justice). Hope I did well. If not, please be nice.

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist/Soundtrack: https://playmoss.com/en/littoralbones/playlist/from-the-north-wind-her-fire-follows


End file.
